Love & War

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FOREWORD

I am Count Ramtk, Second Lord of Fiojn. This is my account concerning the story of my mother, a bandit, and a stranger in the last war between Legosia and Armintia. Three years ago I found my mother’s diary and on reading it, unearthed a true story that explains my own heritage. The tale was so absorbing my priest encouraged me to edit the manuscript and turn it into a novel. I wished nothing more than to do so, but in beginning the process a clear problem arose; her diary did not contain everything about the tale. It was not until I read the end that I learned of a letter a man had written. After a year’s search I came across the correspondence in Armintia. A Legosian woman, married to an Armintian lord, gave it to me, claiming her brother was Richard de Goúth, the famous spy, long dead but not forgotten. For clarity’s sake I have also added extracts from Jack Talkville’s memoirs and his novel Turncoat, written five years after the war. And so in their own words and in the words of my mother, this is their story, a tale set during the war, but not about it. A tale of hate. A tale of revenge. But most of all, a tale of love.

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PROLOGUE

Richard’s Letter...

In this faint and unmoving picture I see two worlds. One where I dream of all the things I wish were true. The other a stark reminder that dreams are mere masquerades, damn lies that fill your mind with hope. Your heart is a tool for emotional destruction. Heed it not; follow it only when your head allows it. This sick feeling of love is the cruellest sentiment bestowed on man, for there is no other emotion that can cripple and invade your heart. It irks. It vexes. It ails. No my dear sister it is worse than that. It is an affliction. One which can strike you dead.

Love is cruel.

It does not help me so, that I am in hospital slowly bleeding to death in the desolate place we call Armintia. Lo and behold the dark clouds that settle so finally on this morbid country!

This sordid ruin where I shall breathe my last. I hate it. Almost as much as love. I was a fool. I let it nestle in me like a bird would do when creating her nest. I let Her in when I knew there was no hope. Hope and Love. I shall find no solitude there. This story is a testament to a time when I did not think such thoughts. No sister, indeed it starts at a time when you would have me believe that I was capable of being loved. I fell in love sister. And then it got stripped away like that of a furious wind brushing the last of the dying leaves on an old lonely tree. Yet my ailment is worse because the tree only has to suffer autumn and winter safe in the knowledge that spring will come again. Oh sister where is my spring? Today as I write this I am that tree with no leaves. Cold and lonely, despite the fact I am surrounded by a cluster of other trees; evergreen.

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I haven’t seen you for some ten years now. You must be twenty summers old. No doubt you are in love. No doubt you are as pretty as I had always known you were. I have one ear sister and no tongue. My hands count six fingers and I have a scar down my face that hides any feeling of happiness. It is a mask I shall wear for life.

You know I was sent away as a child and so our friendship was always cut short. But my little sister, I was sent away to become like our father. He is dead. Do not grieve. It matters little now. He obeyed our king and died because of it. I disobeyed him and have survived despite it.

A year ago, when I was only a year older than you are now, I was sent to the dwelling place of Earl Reginald of Porta. Heåma Castle was his summer abode and he was a loyal servant to the king. There I rode one night with a dispatch I knew not about. It was a jovial night and my horse was a dark mare. She was young and in a boisterous mood. I showed her to the stable master, rubbing her down myself before seeking audience with his Excellency. I had just finished my training at the Royal Military School and this was my first assignment. I had become a Knight not three days earlier and now carried my proud rifle as a testament to that fact. As you know, only the bravest and most skilful are attributed the position of Knight, and what’s more I was but one and twenty. I was proud and arrogant.

Reginald of Porta greeted me in his office some two hours later, presumably he saw no urgency in the news I was unwittingly sending him. He sat at his desk and opened the letter carefully, frowning as he put on his glasses and scratched his grey receding hairline. It seemed to take an age for him to read the letter, which was but one page in length. He read without emotion, and with me standing opposite, waiting patiently for his reply. Now that I lie here

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sister, I wish that I had opened that dispatch and read what words were written. For nothing prepared me for what happened next.

Reginald eyed me suspiciously when he finally finished reading. Comprehension seemed to dawn as his eyes grew transfixed on me. ‘You,’ he said in his deep monotonous voice, ‘have been assigned to my command as a captain.’ I nodded and thanked him, knowing that that was a more than generous commission. I had just finished my training and had arisen to a post some men took a lifetime to reach. I was not rich, as you know sister, for I am the fifth son of a family that has no money left. No. I achieved this distinction through hard work and dedication. My black rifle, with the polished stock made of oak, boasted as much. I wore my dark blue cloak, only given to those who were a member of the Order of Knights, with pride. I thought with all my qualifications Earl Reginald of Porta would be glad to see me. No. I saw in him only sorrow. He shook his head and I stood to attention. ‘What are my orders, sir?’

Reginald lowered his brow and placed the letter on his desk. Glancing at it one more time he took a deep breath and grasped his hands together tightly. ‘Your orders captain, are quite clearly detailed in this here letter sent by Marshal Roush.’ He paused for a second, clearly waiting to see if I knew what the content of my orders were. After a few seconds he could see I did not. He seemed to sigh and stood, walking slowly to the window. There he looked out as fireworks sparkled through the sky and as the celebrations began in earnest. And it was there he stood, gazing out into that dark night that he spoke, articulating each word with a chilling detachment. ‘Captain de Goúth I have the strictest orders here to send you to Armintia as an emissary to the Emperor.’ I nodded, hiding my shock the way I had been trained to do. The Earl turned to look at me and furrowed his brow. ‘You have no questions?’ he asked slightly

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surprised. I shook my head. ‘No sir, I shall travel at first light tomorrow and you can await my first report two weeks today.’ The Earl of Porta nodded and then dismissed me. He was clearly shaken by another piece of information in that letter which he had declined to tell me.

Nevertheless, my first mission of real note was an important one. I was to be an emissary to the Emperor of Armintia. In laymen’s terms sister, it meant I was being sent across the seas as a spy for my king.

*

*

*

I must confess sister that I fell in love with Armintia when I first arrived there, some many months ago. As I stepped on one of the many sandy beaches I saw a greatness here that I do not share now. I was dressed in clothes fit for a lord and watched as my ship slowly disappeared on the horizon. My rifle, as well as my other weapons, were hidden in my sack. I was donned in a light grey, leaving my proud cloak of Knighthood with the shores of my king at home. Sister, Armintia is two hundred miles north of our beloved island Legosia. We are twice as big and have been their enemy since the beginning of time. I was alone. The beach was devoid of all life. Only the wind and the crashing of the waves could be heard amid the tranquil scene before me. Yet I knew I had landed on the shores of Count Loff, Lord of Fiojn, second cousin of Umeris, Emperor of Armintia.

After a brief pause to reflect upon my task I went along my way, reaching the northern Loyken road after a two mile trek through blissful dunes full of a serenity that our Legosian beaches lack. The radiant sun stung my burnt face. I had only a little water to drink, which did

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little to quench my parched throat. Sweat invaded my body, so that I was soon dressed down to my white shirt, tired and thirsty. I felt the burden of my luggage, which I carried upon my back. I cursed, knowing full well I should have travelled lighter and brought suitable provisions. I gasped for the taste of water, dragging my sack behind me, leaving a trail on the dusty track.

For an hour I went upon my way, until I heard the distinct sound of hooves clattering yonder up the road. My heart skipped a jump. Then I realised there was nothing desperately untoward about me, if I kept to my story. All it took was one smart scout. I stopped as I saw the horsemen appear on the horizon. The sun was in my eyes and I squinted to see what potential horror lay before me. As the scouts drew closer I soon realised they were not scouts at all but three horsemen dressed in a ragged brown. Strange I thought to myself, feeling an incredible amount of unease at my present situation. The hairs at the back of my neck prickled and I realised what these men were. With a shiver of fear I grabbed my sack and pulled out my weapon. The faces of the three horsemen were visible now. I can only imagine their fear as they saw a stranger clad in a white shirt pull a percussion lock rifle from behind his back. I smelt the anxiety as they reared to a halt some twenty paces from the lonesome figure aiming the weapon steady and low. They were brigands. I could see it on their devilish expressions.

Cautiously, they trotted a little closer until I signalled a warning that they all understood.

‘Gentlemen,’ I said with a smile, my rifle now targeting what I presumed was the head of their leader. ‘You travel with swords.’

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‘And you travel with guns,’ the leader proclaimed confidently. I nodded and grinned again. ‘Yep I do. But I travel on foot. You travel around on one of those lovely horses. How old is she?’

The man, who boasted a white head of hair, frowned, surprised by such a question. ‘Four years old,’ he found himself saying. I nodded. ‘And who did you steal these fine steeds from? A man like you probably doesn’t even have a house that costs as much as these three beauties.’

The thief shrugged. The other two men looked slightly shocked. They glanced at one another and I shook my head in an effort to hide my disgust at their stupidity. ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ I said. ‘I have three lovely bullets just for you if you put one foot wrong.’

‘We can come to some arrangement,’ the older man, who was most definitely the leader, added after a slight pause. I looked at him thoughtfully. He was obviously trying to prolong our little conversation so that my arms became tired, and my aim less accurate. My posture didn’t change, and instead I gave out a small laugh. ‘Since you want me to keep talking, how about you tell me how you came about these horses, especially that handsome grey?’

The old man looked puzzled but then grinned. ‘How do I know you are not his friend and kill me for the crime?’

‘Friend to whom?’ I asked seriously.

The thief narrowed his eyes, cursing his idle slip. ‘We can do this with swords.’

‘I like my rifle.’

‘You are not from here are you?’ the elder thief retorted, changing the subject tactfully.

The smile did not return to my face. I was feeling tired. I was drenched in sweat and after

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taking a closer look at the fine horses, I knew, in my heart, that I wanted them. ‘Across the seas my thief…to see a friend…what is your name and from whom did you steal?’

‘You think I’m going to tell you?’ the thief scoffed. ‘I may be a simple man of low birth but I ain’t dim Mister Rifleman.’

‘But you are a thief travelling to the coast…perhaps you were hoping to meet up with a ship and trade these fine beasts off?’ I stopped. ‘You are trying my patience.’

‘One of us will get to you before you cut all three of us down,’ one of the younger brigands threatened, with a certain amount of anxiety. The smile returned. ‘Would you like to test your theory thief, you know not who I am or what I do. Now please dismount and run east until you reach that ridge.’

‘Ha! You think I shall bargain with that!’ the eldest quipped, spitting in disgust.

‘You forget my finger is the difference between you breathing life and hitting this road stone dead with a bloody hole in your head. Now do as I say!’

The thief looked at his two men for encouragement; both seemed to shake their heads quickly. The sun was high and sweat trickled down my eye. ‘You have ten seconds to decide your fate gentlemen; I am late and am in need of a bath.’

‘You are no murderer!’ the thief replied, laughing nervously.

‘Eight, you know me so well?’

‘You bluff!’ one of the other thieves cried with panic adorned across his face.

‘I seldom bluff. Six…five…three.’

‘Hang on!’ the third thief shouted, obviously educated enough to know his numbers. I paused. ‘Is there a problem?’ I could see the three brigands count off the remaining seconds in

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their heads. They gasped hopelessly, seemingly realising their fate. I could not tell whether it was a sigh of relief or that of stupidity when I hesitated a second longer. ‘You are stubborn men…and here I am giving you a last chance to run.’

‘The ten seconds are up and you haven’t fired!’ the eldest bandit observed, obviously reassured enough to believe I wouldn’t do it. His expression changed when he saw my face.

I shook my head. ‘Oh dear,’ I replied.

I often wonder, as I lie on my deathbed, if things might have been different. I see now that everything that was going to happen happened with me helpless in the arms of fate. It so occurred that the three magnificent horses, one a wonderful grey mare and two fine black stallions, were a gift from the Count of Fiojn to his future son-in-law. If love is the spawn of evil then fate is the true devil. The three bandits were local thieves and their theft was well publicised. It was not long before I came across some company once again.

I had learned the identity of the three men, after looking through their effects. They were brothers, which surprised me. They were also poor, which didn’t. I decided to hide the bodies and take the three horses to the nearest settlement. I rode the grey mare. After only half an hour upon the road I met the pursuers. Six guards carrying muskets all on fine horses and dressed in the royal green. The leader, a lieutenant, saw me first and within seconds I was surrounded. Though truth be told sister, I encouraged such a venture. My suspicions were revealed with the lieutenant’s first words. He stared at the horses. ‘What are you doing with those?’

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I betrayed surprise and then spun my web, knowing I could no longer sell them.

‘Bringing them back to the owners, I set upon some thieves yonder south and rescued the beasts from the commoners calling themselves bandits.’

‘You are a nobleman?’ the lieutenant asked, noticing my well-spoken tone, ‘but not of the empire.’ I nodded. ‘From distant seas.’ It was now that I decided upon my tale. It would have to be convincing and not very distant from the truth. I knew the lasting question was going to come. The prelude to my lies. ‘Where do you hail from and what is your name?’

I looked at the guards and breathed in before answering. ‘Legosia, I fled from the island,’ I added hurriedly as their expressions changed. The lieutenant inspected me and after a pause nodded. ‘You can tell your story to my master, please forgive me but I must place you under arrest.’

‘But I have returned the horses!’ I protested with false alarm. The lieutenant gave an apologetic look. ‘Nevertheless you are Legosian; the Emperor has ordered all men from your isle to be arrested on site. You shall talk to the Count of these lands; these horses are gifts from him to his son-in-law to be.’

‘How were they stolen?’ I asked, submitting to my fate.

‘The Ramtk brothers, the five of them overpowered a small escort and fled leaving two men dead and one injured.’

‘I only came across three,’ I replied frowning. The lieutenant seemed both surprised and shocked at my response. ‘They are dead?’

I nodded. ‘Hidden five miles down the road, east towards the ridge. One was perhaps three score years, the others were young.’

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‘You have killed the eldest and his two youngest brothers it seems. My name is Croft, Lieutenant Croft…I shall see to it that you have an audience with the Count personally. What is your name?’

I smiled, relieved. ‘My name is Jacob, Jacob Hilmai,’ I answered amicably.

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CHAPTER ONE

Richard’s Letter...

The castle before me was grand indeed. I was led inside the courtyard and there taken to a room not so magnificent. I was given water and some cold sausage before being told to wait. A guard was placed outside my chamber, and there I waited until Lieutenant Croft himself came to me as dusk fell. ‘My lord shall see you now,’ he said with a regretful smile. I shrugged arrogantly, but followed him up a flight of stairs nonetheless. After our ascent we entered a large corridor that led to one of several hidden rooms. We took the fifth door and walked on without hesitating. ‘This is the gallery,’ Croft said rather embarrassingly for I could see that it was such. A long narrow straight room with great big windows served to light the grand paintings on the opposite wall. Because the sun had left the skies, oil lamps were lit between each canvass.

Croft led me through the dim room to the middle where a party of men were standing.

‘Thank you Croft that shall be all,’ an elderly man said, waiting for the lieutenant to leave before offering his own inspection of me. What he saw must have been a shabby figure in a dirty white shirt and grey trousers. I was wearing big black leather boots and had tied my long blonde hair behind my head with a ribbon. Three weeks of sailing meant I had a thick blonde beard that showed no sign of tidiness and made me look five years older. The top part of my shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a mixture of red and tanned skin, and the beginnings of a scar on my chest. I knew I was looking at the Count and waited for him to continue. ‘You are Jacob of the noble Hilmai family are you not?’ the Count asked evenly, standing with a handful of

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intrigued attendants. ‘I am he,’ I replied, pausing to take in my surroundings. The man before me was a tall, plain sort of chap, dressed in the garb of a gentleman. His large moustache dominated much of his round face and he looked no more a Count than I, but for one prevailing contrast. His dark hollow eyes commanded instant respect and pierced me with such austerity and contempt that I thought he might throw me in irons there and then. Instead he simply nodded. ‘And do you know who I am Jacob?’ he asked.

‘Count Loff, Lord of Fiojn, Second Cousin of Emperor Umeris,’ I replied lowering my gaze to the floor. The Count seemed to smile. ‘And why are you here?’

‘Fleeing my king,’ I lied, briefly looking Loff in the eye. I paused and sensed that I needed to expand my explanation. ‘A month ago the king accused me of spying for your Emperor and soon became so consumed by the fear that he sentenced me to hang. Yet I escaped two days before my official trial and fled to the nearest port. There I set sail on the Rougis and made my way to your southern shores.’

‘And the horses?’ a younger man with black long hair asked. I stared at him and presumed that he was the Count’s future son-in-law. ‘I was not long landed when I came across the thieves and rescued the horses.’

‘Why come to Armintia though man?’ Count Loff asked, obviously unsure of what to think. I shook my head. ‘Because the king had given me no other choice. He forced me to become his enemy.’

The Count accepted the story with a quick nod, his face expressionless, his gaze piercing.

‘And your effects? A Handson rifle, a pistol and two knives? No sword?’

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I paused. ‘I had to sell it in order to acquire decent food and quarters on the ship,’ I answered, that part at least the truth. Count Loff smiled, though likely more out of amusement than genuine concern. ‘You are a sorry man down on your luck Hilmai, but I and my son-inlaw are grateful for your hand in returning the horses. The mare is for Amelia is it not Lok?’ The young slender man shifted uneasily, before carving a rather comical smile. ‘If I do not take it for myself.’

‘My daughter expects the best Lok, see to it that she has it,’ Loff replied, failing to discern the humour in Lok’s jest. Lok nodded. ‘Yes father.’

‘Good…Hilmai, I see no reason to suspect you but you must be warned I shall send men to make sure your story is true. If it is not then I will not be forgiving…and nor,’ Count Loff added turning to the nearest portrait, ‘shall the Emperor. However, until then you shall stay here as my guest.’ I nodded gratefully, knowing that he meant ‘prisoner’. It was a good job that I had sent information ahead when our ship had hit the nearest port, prudently enlightening Earl Reginald with my fabricated story. From there I was certain he would act on my invention and make it reality. I thought the Count would dismiss me then, but instead he asked me a question. ‘The Hilmai family, where do they come from, for I have not heard the name spoken in noble circles before?’

‘We are traditionally from the north my lord,’ I replied confidently. ‘But alas my father and mother died last year from the fever that swept our land.’

Loff sniffed regretfully and the other men in the room, all except Lok, muttered their apologies. ‘Terrible business that, do you have family?’

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I nodded. ‘A sister,’ I replied, declining to tell them I also had four older brothers. ‘She is not yet twenty and very beautiful.’ I smiled picturing your face. ‘She will make her future husband very happy I am sure.’

‘Very well,’ the Count said with the air of a dismissal. I could tell his questioning was over and he was intent on me leaving. And behold, right on cue, Croft strode across the room and politely took my arm. ‘So then Jacob, Croft here shall show you to your new quarters. Do not be so foolish as to try to escape, for my lands are well protected.’

‘The reward?’ one of the other men grunted, causing the Count to scowl irritably. His eye twitched in memory. ‘Ah yes we shall also pay you for the recapture of the beasts. Curious,’ he added lighting a cigar. ‘But Armintia does seem like a damn strange destination.’

‘Why so lord?’ I asked obediently. Loff paused. ‘Because only two days since we found out that some three weeks ago your king declared war on our beloved empire. Curious indeed.’

I stared blankly, my mouth agape with fear. Such information had come as a shock. And Count Loff knew it.

My new room was a grand affair, though still painfully modest. I spent the night there hoping that the web of lies I had handed the Count would not be discovered. I could tell from the start that he was a formidable man who boasted a great power among Armintia’s lands. How was I to know sister? As painful as the memory is I lie awake thinking of my greatest woe. An unforgiving, unchangeable melancholy of destruction. Why is it that you can feel so alone and know so many? Your soul is left empty with nobody to fill it. Imagine a part of you dying inside for everything you cannot have. Imagine your heart being ripped out and put back in

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every time you think or dream of some fantasy that can neither be real or true. By the greatness of our time I feel love. It is immortal. It is sad. It is sorrow.

The following day my soul was touched and a fire began to burn ever so slowly inside me. Soon that fire would become a raging blaze. Nothing, not even the purest water could ever quench it. For love is an eternal fire. It does not wither away. It is there. Burning you always.

I woke early to a sizzling sun rising from the east. After dressing in some eloquent new clothes I found my way to the courtyard and watched as the stable master put the three recaptured horses through their strides. Fine beasts. Full of power and grace. I took an apple from a tree standing over me and bit into it. The stable master nodded at me. It was his way of saying thank you. I felt ready and confident. The grey mare was there; an animal of true beauty, raising her head above to show she feared no other. In such peace I barely thought of a war I was plunged within from my king. I knew now the vitality of my task. In the morning breeze I also knew the danger. I could sense it. It tainted the very air I breathed. And as I watched and thought of home and my family I saw her. The true source of my destruction. My destiny. My end.

I heard a maid call out, which startled me from my trance. It was intoxicating. ‘Lady Amelia! You should eat before you ride this morning!’

‘I’m old enough to decide when and where I eat Mizzy,’ Amelia replied, turning to see me leaning against the apple tree, jaw ajar and with eyes curdling with an impolite though fatuated stare. She had brown curly hair that fell beyond her shoulders in a way that made me shiver. Her eyes of emerald green were vibrant and full of life. As she stopped and looked at me I admired her slender figure and saw a picture of true beauty. I was lost, for my soul was

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already hers; I just did not know it yet. ‘Who’s the fancy young man staring at you like that?’

Mizzy asked, an old loyal lady-in-waiting of considerable size. Amelia’s eyes burned with a playful intrigue. A smile formed at her lips. ‘I do not know. Patrick is Snowbell ready?’

Patrick, the stable master frowned. He looked at the grey mare then at the Lady Amelia. ‘Snowbell?’ he said suspiciously. Amelia shrugged and handled the reins. ‘You have a problem with the name?’

Patrick took one last look at the powerful horse and tested the name once again.

‘Snowbell,’ he muttered shaking his head, making the horse neigh in fright. The stable master stared back at the young woman dressed in blue and let out a grunt. ‘Bleeding horse is embarrassed at such a name. What happened to these names of old like Passion, Diamond, Beauty…all good names and you have to go and call her Snowbell. Well she’ll be the closest thing to snow you’ll ever see.’

‘Oh don’t be such a bore Patrick’, Amelia replied in good humour, rising up in the accustomed woman’s saddle. She spotted me once again, standing alone in the shade of the apple tree and smiled with her eyes. ‘What do you think?’

‘Think what my lady?’ I asked startled. Amelia gave an amused laugh. ‘You were listening to us were you not? So what do you think of the name?’

I paused, looked at Patrick who pleaded with me to agree and feigned my greatest smile. ‘It is a beautiful name to go with a beautiful gift,’ I replied bowing with decorum. ‘Your husband-to-be has excellent taste,’ I added walking back to my room, but with the perfect pace as to hear the Lady Amelia talk quietly to Patrick. ‘Who is that man?’

‘My lady,’ Patrick said staring at me as I went, ‘he is the foreigner who saved my job.’

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CHAPTER TWO

Richard’s Letter...

I hate it! People do not know torture until they have felt this. Complete mockery of feelings, or emotions. This world can be like a radiating sun one day and an exploding fire the next. It might depress you this tale I have to tell. Sister if you are expecting happy endings and fairytale stories read on no longer. This is not some made up fantasy where people live together in harmony. This is real. And it hurts. It hurts so much that I wish I could die now instead of rotting in this bed waiting for my inevitable sentence to be given. Looming over me like a dark sky, death awaits; whether it be here or by the hangman’s noose I am going to die.

Alone. Is that not everyone’s worst fear? Loneliness? It is mine sister. If this reaches you I beg of you to come and find my grave so I know that there was someone who felt love for me. As I write in this bed on parchments given to me by a gaoler I once counted as a friend, I know that such a pursuit did, for a time, bring happiness.

I remember for three days staying largely in my room, taking occasional strolls around the courtyard, hoping to see her again. There was nothing. But I remember feeling content.

Happy. Knowing I was trusted by my king. Wanted by my country. I was so proud back then.

And I made sure people around me knew it. I walked with an air of confidence befitting the Emperor himself, not some stranger confined behind castle walls.

On the fourth day, on one of my evening strolls around the courtyard I heard raised voices from the nearby stables. I almost felt sorry for poor Patrick being given a tongue’s lashing by the Count’s steward, and was slightly surprised when I realised it was not. In my

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four days I had not seen Count Loff or anyone of note since my arrival, save for one hunting trip in the early hours of a wonderful morning.

As I walked towards the source of commotion I suddenly noticed Patrick rushing towards me shaking his head. ‘No sir, better not disturb them!’ the old man said, blocking my way. I heard a second voice. A woman’s voice. I frowned. ‘Disturb who?’

Patrick paused and looked around as if to make sure nobody was listening. He lowered his voice. ‘Lady Amelia and Lord Lok, sir.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Disagreement, sir…an argument,’ Patrick added glancing back towards the stables. I heard a scream in rage and suddenly saw Amelia storm out in the open moonlight, give one glance in our direction, and continue on indoors. Sensing that this was not the first time an argument had arisen I hesitated, then looked at Patrick for comfort. ‘The Count?’ I asked, in a hoarse whisper, realising that footsteps were coming towards us.

‘Away on business,’ Patrick answered quietly. We looked at our new acquaintance and saw an irate-looking figure screwing his face in distaste. I smiled and noticed the discomfort of poor Patrick. ‘Always hard to tame a woman,’ I said in light jest. Lok scowled at me. ‘None of this shall be disclosed to the Count. Are we clear?’ Patrick nodded. I smiled again. ‘Of course my lord.’

With that Lok spat and left. I knew then that the two of us would not enjoy the same wines. Indeed I found the man repugnant. ‘Jacob isn’t it?’

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For a moment I paused and realised I was no longer Richard de Goúth but Jacob, Jacob Hilmai. There was no longer a Richard, no longer a history. Only a new life. One I stuck to

almost vigorously. ‘That is right. They argue a lot?’ I asked boldly, earning a cautious stare.

‘They do…he doesn’t like her riding out so much, in fact he doesn’t like her being so damned free-spirited.’

‘Awful trait in a woman,’ I replied grinning. Patrick’s eyes lost a layer of doubt. ‘Thank you Jacob.’

‘For what?’ I asked, trying to get used to my new name.

‘For saving the horses,’ Patrick answered, ‘I’d have been an old bugger without a job if it wasn’t for you.’

‘Nonsense! You’re not old Patrick’ The stable master grinned. And with that shook my hand and headed for his quarters. I stayed and looked at the moon. The stars were out. The sky bright with a shimmering of bewildering light. The seven spirits looked down on me, knowing my deceitful game.

I walked towards the apple tree, then through an ivory archway to a stone chair that looked more like an old throne of age. It was my one place of solitude. A place where I could remember who I was and think about the perils that lay before me. I did not expect company.

I heard crying and as soon as I’d stepped from the opening I saw her. Tears trickled down her smooth cheeks. Her lilac dress was crumpled as she hunched herself together on the stone seat. I would have let her be if it wasn’t for the fact that she saw me and sat up trying to hide her grief. ‘I shan’t trouble you my lady, forgive me,’ I said making to turn.

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‘You heard us?’ she asked softly. I turned and took a step closer. Opening my mouth to reply I simply found myself nodding. She sniffed. ‘He is a callous fool and I am to wed him.’

‘We seldom marry whom we love my lady,’ I answered gently, approaching a little closer and handing her a silk handkerchief. She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes.

‘Thank you. It seems we both come here to be alone.’

‘I have little else to go,’ I replied inclining my head as if to show Lady Amelia that I was a prisoner. Her prisoner. ‘I am sorry my father has made you a captive behind these walls, but you are not from here. In fact our two countries are at war.’

I shrugged. ‘My country is no longer my home. I shall offer your father my services when the truth about me is confirmed.’

‘He rides to war soon I am sure.’

‘You should be happy,’ I answered quickly. She frowned tucking the yellow handkerchief into her sleeve. ‘Why?’ ‘Because it will mean your husband-to-be shall also be marching to the battlefields.’

‘Ha! You do not know Lok. He is a coward! No doubt…’ Amelia looked at me and shook her head as if to realise she had said too much. ‘I must go, please do not try and talk to me again.’

The following day I began to compile my initial report to send back home. It was sketchy and largely full of superficial details that said little about the strength of Armintia’s military. Of course it was in code. On writing it I made preliminary notes and memorised them. Boredom

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made me do this and when I was done I made a fire in my room and burned the incriminating pieces of parchment.

From the way my room looked on re-entering I knew that it had been searched meticulously on several occasions. They did not trust me and I was not going to give them the chance to seize on that mistrust. In fact my aim was to make myself indispensable to the Count’s cause. I was to be his puppet, and in return he’d involuntarily give me information valuable to the Crown and his enemies.

A day later at luncheon, after my morning walk around the courtyard, I was summoned

by Lieutenant Croft, who told me I had an audience with the Count. Donning a clean shirt I was escorted to the Count’s personal chamber and bidden entrance. Croft stood behind me as Count Loff towered over us both. He lit a cigarette and blew a puff of smoke into my face. My reaction didn’t change and his upper lip quivered with irritation. ‘You are an itch Hilmai. A bloody itch that could easily turn into a rash.’

I knew he could not possibly have received any information about my identity for I had only been his detainee for less than a week. I could see that the lack of knowledge and the indecision about my freedom was irking him. ‘I have nobody to verify your comments concerning neither your unfortunate tale nor your identity. My heart, as well as other less intelligent people, wants to believe your story. But Hilmai, my mind is made of sterner stuff.

We found, the other day, remnants of burnt paper in your fire…such oddities makes my mind race harder and my heart faster. I do not suppose you can warrant such behaviour with an acceptable answer?’

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‘My tale,’ I replied without hesitation, ‘I was trying to write it all down on paper in a letter so I could send it to the Emperor in the hope that he would accept an audience.’

‘Hardly explains the burning,’ Loff grunted, his eyebrow raised with a mark of mistrust brushed across his face. At the remark I lowered my head and feigned embarrassment. ‘Alas,’ I said glancing at Croft, whose expression seemed sympathetic, ‘I could write no words to do the Emperor justice,’ I lied with an oblique smile. Loff sucked on his cigarette. ‘It will be weeks before one of my agents can confirm your story. But in the mean time Lieutenant Croft has begged of me to ask you in the assistance of capturing the last remaining associates of the Ramtk brothers. The two middle siblings are still at large and together with their uncouth mob are parasites in my land. I suppose I do not need to tell you that with war raging I could well do without internal disputes. Help in the eradication of this gang and it will go some way in earning my trust.’

‘You are too kind,’ I replied with an expression of genuine delight at this chance to seize the initiative over my captor. ‘I was taught how to track and hunt,’ I added hoping to impress.

Count Loff gave a flicker of disinterest. ‘So are half of my guard,’ he added whilst dismissing us with the wave of his hand. For a moment I walked side by side with Croft until we reached the familiar surroundings of the gallery. There I stopped and looked at a painting of one of Loff’s noble ancestors. ‘What are the two names of the brothers,’ I asked roughly. Croft shifted his weight and directed his gaze uncomfortably at the painting I was staring at. ‘Roark and Lyle Ramtk,’ he replied.

‘They know I killed their brothers?’ I asked turning to Croft who looked tired and pale.

The weary lieutenant nodded. ‘They know of you.’

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‘And they have a town, a village that they perhaps once called home? Family?’

‘They grew up in Onis, three miles east. It is a small town largely full of patriotic citizens.’

I smiled. ‘Double whatever reward you have on the brothers and ringleaders, some of them must have left behind loved-ones, namely wives or siblings.’ My eyes fixed on Croft with a reassurance that made the officer smile. ‘Somebody somewhere will talk,’ I added grimly.

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CHAPTER THREE

Richard’s Letter...

After my second week had drawn to a close I felt anxious to show Loff what skills I knew.

Sister, I had underestimated my quarry. Both Roark and Lyle Ramtk had once been Rangers for His Most Excellent Emperor, and as such knew their trade well. It surprised me little that their three brothers came from less fabled stock. Under the supervision of Croft I had made Onis my new home, meaning I saw little of Count Loff and nothing of the Lady Amelia. The town was a simple place designed with the view to keep newcomers in rather than out. There were several hotels and inns, numerous brothels and bars, as well as a local circus that seemed to function happily despite the complications of war.

In my hotel room I was editing a report written by Lieutenant Croft, which was to be sent to Count Loff, updating him on our progress. Our progress was slow. In just over a week we had captured just two suspected gang-members who told us nothing and died bravely. Even the Ramtk’s womenfolk were in hiding.

As I was close to finishing the report Croft walked in unannounced and set down a cold pint of ale on my desk. My initial opinion of the cagey officer had changed. Instead of thinking him timid and cautious I saw in him a hard working, brave individual, who was quiet yet methodical. It did not take me long to like him, or he to befriend me. ‘Caught the outlaws yet?’ he asked with a grin, sitting down rigidly on a chair. I looked up and put down my quill. ‘Are you sure they actually exist?’ I questioned in jest, making the lieutenant laugh. He shrugged, idly passing his hand through his curly brown hair. ‘Unfortunately yes, I’ve come across them

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several times. In fact on one occasion the younger brother Lyle almost de-horsed me. He killed my brother, who somewhat heroically and stupidly intervened,’ he added sombrely. I sniffed and stood up, looking out the window onto the busy street ahead. ‘So this is personal?’

‘Perhaps,’ Croft answered vaguely. ‘The Count has placed me in charge because he knows I have a determination like none other to catch them. But I do not begrudge Lyle for what he did…in battle you expect causalities. It was clean and quick. Damned quick.’

‘I feel hopeless Seamus,’ I admitted shaking my head, ‘so far I have convinced the Count that I am an incapable upstart who has inflicted torture on two seemingly innocent men.’

‘They were not innocent,’ Croft reassured me with a defiant glare, ‘and we will find them.’

I could not hide my smile. ‘That I know.’

‘And anyway,’ Croft added sprightly, ‘perhaps the reason for me coming might lighten your mood.’

‘Who ever said anything to the contrary?’ I gleamed, beckoning my friend to go on. Croft took a sip of his ale and almost choked. ‘Damn uncivilised liquor! Which is why you might like to know we have been invited to the governor’s for dinner this evening. He is a generous old crone who is anxious to lend his support.’

‘About bloody time,’ I grunted, turning to drain my pint.

I must confess my sister that despite my irritation at not catching the Ramtk brothers I was at ease with the way my situation was unfolding. I knew that it was only a matter of weeks until the Count’s agents brought back the news I had created. What is more, I was no longer

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confined to his castle and was given a degree of responsibility in his domestic affairs. Though rather trite and a test to gauge my loyalty, the respite was a welcome aside to my true intentions and mission.

The Governor of Onis was a kind man who had connections with the Emperor. In addition to his affable wife he was also a tad eccentric, only too willing to help with Croft’s investigations. As soon as we were introduced he offered us ten of his finest men to add to the twenty soldiers already working on the case. In short I liked Governor Stapleton Rheese. ‘Oh they are good,’ he said of the Ramtk brothers. ‘Rather worryingly good. Professionals. Damned Rangers are the equivalent to the Knights of Legosia! Remarkable chaps. Quiet brilliant when you want somebody to be killed. Tremendously encouraging! Oh,’ the governor added almost lost in his patriotic rhetoric. ‘I almost forgot, besides my wife and my two youngest sons we shall be joined for dinner by Lord Lok and Lady Amelia, future heart-sweets.’

‘Sweethearts,’ his wife corrected, apologising for her husband’s unconventional nature.

The news made my throat constrict. Croft seemed to be grinning. ‘Lok hates you,’ he whispered as we were shown into the parlour. I quickly found my tongue. ‘The feeling could quite easily be mutual,’ I replied sitting, relieved to find that Governor Rheese’s two esteemed guests were yet to arrive. ‘Cheese?’ Rheese asked as his manservant arrived with a platter of various forms of cheese, even the Legosian Blue. ‘No? Wine then? Maybe even some port if Ezekiel can find a decent bottle.’

‘Wine will be fine,’ I replied, eager to drink as little as possible in order to keep a clear mind. The governor took a glass himself and sat down. ‘So what do you think of Lord Lok

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then?’ he asked, his question directed at me. I fumbled and searched inside for a diplomatic response. ‘I –’ ‘Oh good! Me too! Can’t stand the little sod! But his father is well connected and asked me to keep an eye on him while he stays with the Count.’

I heard Croft snigger and realised that he and Rheese seemed to hold a particular bond. I took a drink of my wine and absently wondered why a lowly lieutenant was given a command to capture two infamous criminals and was able to attest to friendship with a governor. There were mysteries I was yet to uncover, but given time, would soon come to understand.

‘I told the Count,’ Rheese continued unaffected by my lack of conversation, ‘that I had heard of the Hilmai and quite why you were treated as a prisoner is beyond me! You come from a noble family and are clearly here to befriend us!’

‘Precautions are necessary,’ I answered, defending Loff.

‘No matter, you’re here now,’ Rheese chirped, grinning as he heard evident commotion from the main door, ‘and it seems the late couple have arrived.’

I took another sip of my wine and glanced at Croft, who was in the midst of earnest conversation with Rheese’s younger wife. As Lord Lok and Lady Amelia were announced by Ezekiel, Rheese stood and greeted them jovially. ‘Ah!’ he said with a grin, ‘you are impeccably on time as always,’ he added turning to wink at me. I couldn’t help but smile and saw Lok’s foreseeable disdain. Likewise, Amelia had done nothing to acknowledge my existence. ‘Forgive me!’ the old man cried rather dramatically, ‘I rather forgot to mention that Lieutenant Croft and Jacob Hilmai will be joining us.’

Lok’s lips forced a repressed snarl. ‘We are your humble guests.’

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‘Then let us eat!’

The feast was, like its host, an elaborate affair. His two youngest sons were wonderful sport, both recent additions to the Count’s field force, and of considerable intellect. As chance had it I was placed opposite Amelia, much to her protest. Croft sat to my left and the youngest of Rheese’s sons, Lewis, to my right. With Rheese at the head Croft had also been given the honourable place at his right-hand side, while Lok took his left. To Amelia’s left sat Rheese’s son Campbell, leaving Lord Stapleton’s wife Annabel, to take her position at the foot of the table. A perfect table to fit his guests, I marvelled at the governor’s exquisite taste and unquestionable wealth.

‘Come!’ Stapleton Rheese snorted while we started our second course, a plate of smoked salmon dressed in a lemon and parsley sauce, ‘in the parlour we were just talking about the Knights of Legosia. Jacob my old chap, you ever met one?’

‘Never had the pleasure,’ I answered, which seemed to satisfy the old governor, who went to talking politics with Seamus Croft and Lord Lok. With the two Rheese brothers engaged in conversation with their step-mother I looked at Amelia. She had not uttered a word to me since her arrival. ‘I trust you are well?’ I asked, forcing conversation. The Count’s daughter looked irretrievably annoyed at my question and told me so with the scorn from her green eyes. ‘My father grows tired at your lack of progress with the Ramtk brothers.’

‘Picture of health then,’ I muttered loud enough for her to hear. She gave a scrutinising look and continued to eat. After a few painful seconds she replied. ‘I am well.’ She looked sad, her expression pleaded with me to drop my inquisition. I nodded, grateful I had her full attention. ‘I shall find the brothers my lady…and with it I shall earn your father’s trust.’

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‘As all good men do,’ she replied with something like a smile.

‘I never claimed to be good,’ I added, and swore that I felt her brush my leg in retort. I shook my head and looked at her but she was already talking to Campbell about the riots in Falore three days ago.

In time to come that moment almost killed me. I just felt so useless. Looking back on it I feel utter anger and rage. I knew there was nothing and yet I had hoped there was something.

My mind was lost. My heart was crushed. Life. Everything is pointless sister.

Still that was not how I felt then. I felt happy, even if I was frustrated in my task to find the Ramtk brothers. I enjoyed the rest of the evening, drinking with Lord Rheese and his two sons. My friend Seamus Croft was as affable as ever and I was relieved when Lord Lok and Lady Amelia left before we took brandy and a cigar.

‘The problem is you see,’ Lord Rheese slurped after his second glass of brandy, ‘that their force outnumbers ours ten to one. There are any number of beaches they could land on. We have not the men to guard them all.’

‘The volunteers from the villages and towns will help,’ Croft replied in defence. Rheese shook his head. ‘Conscription,’ he spat, ‘that will be the only way and when that happens you’ll have a full scale rebellion on your hands.’

‘Don’t you mean we?’ Croft asked with a smile. Rheese looked affronted. ‘Don’t be absurd man; you won’t catch me anywhere near a rebellion. Stopping it will be your job. What do you think Jacob?’

‘I think you should worry about the king’s spies before his army comes,’ I said deliberately. Rheese nodded. ‘Quite right! Rat the spies out and we’ll have won half the battle

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already! Jacob you really are a man of intelligence. I wish I could say the same for Lok. How in the name of the Emperor’s finest dogs he ever got matched with Amelia is beyond me. I noticed you two hit it off,’ Rheese added, his eyes bristling with an uncontrollable tease. I suddenly sat back embarrassed, as if my heart had leapt from my body to betray me. Rheese and Croft laughed at my reaction and I couldn’t help but grin too. ‘Too dour for my taste lord,’ I replied. I thought I saw the old man’s face flicker before he grinned. ‘Another cigar?’

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CHAPTER FOUR

Amelia’s Diary...

My father was a different man when my mother died. She was a beautiful woman. They were not in love. I do not know love, but then I was not brought up to love - only to marry. I’m writing this diary to tell you I did once feel that indescribable feeling. It felt as real as the wind blowing through my hair at autumn’s end. As real as the apple tree growing in the courtyard.

The night I first heard of Lok’s infidelity I wept. Like an old willow in the woods, dying, unloved, unkempt; death’s breeze taking its final grip on that lonely golden leaf. That first night I could not tell you if I was heartbroken or relieved. My soul was certainly condemned when my father heard of the insufferable acts and did nothing. It seems men have an advantage over me. They are allowed to choose who they love. I am told. They are allowed to pleasure other women if their fancy takes them. They can be roused at a whim. It is insuperable to think I could feel such a joy.

Tomorrow we dine again with the Lord Rheese Stapleton, a man whom Lok owes a great debt. I find his character too striking to my fancy and would rather stay and read Balitsta’s

Impressionable – a concoction of poems written about his experiences before he died. His literature is quite illegal in my country, but my faithful maid Mizzy holds her tongue…

Sometimes I wonder if what I am writing will ever be read aloud. This is my heart’s tale.

My father calls me a romantic. ‘No room for romanticism when your sole job is to deliver an heir,’ he will often say, chastising me. I put up with his archaic principles because they are only outdated in my mind. The rest of society plays to its tune, like a harp singing a song of

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love and sorrow when only one might have experienced the latter, but so few the former. And now there is war. My country will fight battles and men will die because their Emperor orders it so. What empire is this but a realm of hypocrisy and pretence clinging to the tick and tock of the past? If I do not marry Lok then I stand to lose everything. Respect. Family. Honour. If I marry him I lose my heart. I will be imprisoned to a man who cares not for me. I am in the habit of telling stories and so I shall recite, the best I can, certain events that happened yesterday and today. Days that have changed my life.

The sun was an odd colour yesterday; the orange glow as it crept from the east, caught my breath. I am still holding it, wondering where it sets. The darkness that preceded it was something of sorrow, a sombre dim picture that was hoping to be lit. I saw the glow of the sun in my mother; I thought I saw it in the sparkle of the stranger’s eye when he looked at me across the street. I pretended not to notice, but I saw enough to see he was with Seamus. He looked rugged and rough, as if the night had blindfolded him, taken him and tortured him to sleep. Such men are best left aloof.

I was in town to purchase a dress for the ball we had this very night past, which meant I had a whole two days to prepare for the occasion. My fiancée, my gaoler, had given me no extra funds to compete with the prevalent fashions in Gormista, but my father would rather die than see me dressed down for such an event. ‘Good morning madam,’ the shopkeeper said, smiling like a puppy waiting to be fed. I was in a glorious mood and my escort waited outside, such was the beauty of the morning. ‘My dress?’ I asked, with a hope that the final amendments had been finished. The old woman smiled. ‘Ready this afternoon madam.’ I frowned, for I am not used to waiting. I have been raised in a household loyal to the empire,

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related to the Emperor himself. The news irked me, though only enough to warrant an outward dissatisfaction without resorting to verbal disinclination. I remember then another figure walk through the door and afterwards an explosion. My first instinct was to scream but I bit my lip and after jumping with fright turned to see that my escort had been lost in the black smoke. I could hear screaming and fighting, guns were fired and swords were drawn, but I saw nothing outside for my eyes were fixed to the secret scene playing out inside.

A tall man with dark outlandish hair, but with a face clean-shaven and calm, stood before me. His expression spoke to me then. He had intelligence, he had aptitude. This was a man who had walked in the face of death and relinquished the reaper’s grip. His eyes were colourless, and yet they spoke of a confidence I have never had. He slowly raised a small gun to my head, his face now completely removed of all partiality or emotion. The shopkeeper screamed and the man looked at her once, his glare enough to pierce her breast and slap her face. She was quite quiet after that, which made me shiver. I felt intrigue creeping down my spine, its spasm made me shiver again, though this time not with fear. His voice was rough, almost silent, but his words were spoken with a clarity befitting an educated man. ‘My lady,’ he said mockingly, the noise of the battle still stinging my ears. When he spoke again they were mere echoes. ‘I am Lyle Ramtk the notorious outlaw and not so notorious villain. I do hope this little…diversion…has not alarmed you so.’

When he stopped, my ears pricked and the noises were clear again forming pictures in my mind that presented dreadful scenarios concocted by my extravagant imagination. There are times I wish my mind was insipid and incapable of thinking on its own. My initial reaction to the outlaw Lyle was consternation mixed with surprise. ‘Killing people makes you notorious

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both as a villain and as an outlaw,’ I replied, surprising myself with my inherent calm. Lyle smiled. ‘I see you are not easily persuaded madam and so I shall be short.’

At this I felt confusion dawn. ‘So you do not mean to kidnap me?’

‘Do not flatter yourself Miss; I am a man of honour. If I was in the kidnapping business then I’d probably start with your horse and finish with your father. I do hope the grey is well?’

‘I –’ There was a clear pause, for the man had knocked the wind from my sails, he was not how I had imagined him. That day, being yesterday, I must confess I only saw a mad killer.

Yet today my heart has changed. If there was evil in his eyes then he did well not to blink.

‘She is well, though I will see you punished for it before your time is up.’

The outlaw then lowered his gun, an object I had quite forgotten in the excitement that had followed. ‘Tell your father that he must talk to the Emperor.’

‘And tell him what?’ I interrupted, ‘that some local criminal threatens anarchy in our lands?’

‘You can tell him that if you wish,’ Lyle replied, glancing for the first time at the vanishing mist. There was no wind that morning. I cannot help but think Lyle Ramtk knew that when he constructed the explosion. ‘The message to the Emperor must be clear. We do not want war with Legosia, if conscription follows we will resist. And next time we shall not be so jovial.’

Jovial? I must admit there is a certain amount of mystery to the man and yet his countenance was smug and conceited. He may not be evil, but that is because of today’s events.

Then I found him repellent, more so when I learnt six men died in the battle. A battle, a ruse, simply to send a message.

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He left quite suddenly, without so much as a second glance, and I waited until one of my guards eventually fought his way through, blood tarnishing his imperial cloak. As the smoke finally faded I couldn’t help but notice Seamus and the stranger standing in the middle of the carnage, swords drawn, their faces blackened by the ash, their blades defaced with warm guilty blood.

The morning was wasted away as I was escorted to the keep in Onis. I was not allowed to travel back home until the countryside was scouted and scourged of the outlaws. I do not know if they found anyone.

My father came to me that evening; he looked tired and had obviously been working frantically to find the villains who had used explosives in the peaceful town of Onis. He did not take my news well. In fact he has ordered the captain of my guard to be sentenced to death. I pleaded on his behalf and he has since been stripped of rank and ordered to the frontline. For that I resent Lyle, who has plagued my thoughts these last two days. Why did he seek me? Was it a show of strength? My father has since placed a price of five thousand golden marks on his head. I heard him arguing with the stranger before he left. The stranger looked at me but said nothing.

Today, the day of the ball, I was able to travel back home. I would have written everything into my diary then, if it was not for the arrangements I had to make as the party’s hostess. The day was spent delegating and instructing. I had to liaise with cook who was in charge of creating three dishes for two hundred guests. With father busy, I wrote letters of reply to those who could not come and helped the steward with the briefing of all the servants. Two hours

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before dusk I was then set on making myself desirable for all those men who knew they could not have me. To flaunt myself in front of Lok would only serve to irritate, and thus gain me a little victory over him. I now see the folly of such things, for my efforts this night seem to have been for nothing.

It is late at present, but since the events are still lucid in my mind I shall pen them, so that whoever reads this diary a hundred years from now will have the benefit of authenticity, rather than memory bent by the prism of time.

Guests arrived an hour after dusk. An accomplished string quintet, hired from Elamea, played to a standard acceptable in this household. At once dance became popular. For the first hour I was busy greeting guests, my father not yet arrived back from Onis. Men were merry with wine, and women happy to gossip and pry. I was questioned repeatedly about my experiences yesterday and soon retired to the private parlour for a little respite. I felt flushed and agitated – as one would in my position. I had yet to dance and was thinking of retiring early when the attendant announced that my husband-to-be had arrived. I had no wish to see the man but he sought me out and after a brief argument I was forced to dance.

After three more dances I made it my prerogative to dance with Colonel Alia and then a handsome young man from the Emperor’s own regiment twice. I forget his name for I was only trying to make Lok jealous. I thought it had worked when I saw him skulking in a corner, drinking wine with his cronies.

Soon later dinner was announced and I led my guests into the dining room. Large oak tables, long and beautiful, were decorated with wonderful motifs and silver cutlery bought from an agent in Falore. The riots there, so I am told, have stopped and the ringleaders have

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been brought to justice. I was seated opposite Lok and was about to sit when my father appeared on the threshold of the great twin doors, much to the cheer of his guests. Seamus stood behind him and I saw the figure of the stranger Mr. Hilmai loom behind their shadows, his face rough, his eyes weary and tired, before the doors were shut. As chance had it Seamus sat to my left and I greeted him with a smile. We are old friends from childhood, Seamus and I, and sometimes I wonder what might have been. His brother, like he, is still dear to my heart.

He is one of my closest friends, if he were from richer family I could quite happily see myself married to him. However, such fancies are nothing but fleeting emotions wrestled from my past.

‘Are you well my lady?’ Seamus asked, politely, sitting as the first course arrived – a consommé julienne of carrot, turnip and leek fresh from our allotment. Etiquette and my father’s presence meant I kept myself composed, but I smiled warmly at Seamus – a smile I am sure Lok noticed. ‘Well thank you lieutenant, I am quite safe now. How goes your search of the Ramtk brothers?’

Seamus was embarrassed and I regret the question now for I can see the strain and pressure he is under, especially now after yesterdays attack and this nights saga. He lowered his head, and glanced at Lok. ‘I hear tell you were taken hostage by the younger brother?’ he answered. I shook my head. ‘Hostage? Do not be absurd, it was simply to pass on a message to my father, quite odd really.’

‘I only wish I saw him in the melee,’ Seamus replied, and I decided not to press the matter. Lok however was not so forgiving. ‘You scarred the man did you not?’

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Seamus looked up, his spoon resting at his lips and teasing his mouth. ‘A small victory considering it cost my brother’s life, sir.’

‘Well you better catch him soon or I’ll see to you personally if they come after Amelia again,’ Lok replied loudly. He likes to assert his authority; it is something I do so hate about the man.

As dinner slowly petered to a conclusion, the ladies left the men to smoke their cigars and talk politics. After talking to General Hornel’s wife until close to midnight I then found myself quite alone. I decided to take a walk and so took a turn around the courtyard, which had been sealed off under my strict orders. Nobody would violate my own personal liberty.

After a second turn I found myself walking under the apple tree. And that was when, to my surprise, I saw him. In fact he looked just as shocked to see me. He was clearly not expecting anyone to be walking the courtyard so late into the night. ‘How did you know no guests would come here?’ I asked, for I suspected a traitor in my household. It is funny now, that I asked such a question first, disregarding my own personal safety. And yet he had pointed a pistol at me before and not fired.

After a pause to look around he quietly replied, his senses clearly ready to act on the first sign of peril. ‘Your question does not convey the surprise I see on your face madam,’ he said, standing perfectly still, in the middle of the courtyard. ‘You do not ask me why I am here?’

‘To take my horse hostage?’ I replied before shaking my head, reflecting on yesterday’s event, ‘or do you mean to kill some more men?’

‘Yesterday was regrettable but necessary. If it were not to happen chance would never have allowed us to meet. In any case you are wrong on both accounts.’ It was with that that he

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heard something I did not; footsteps. With an elegance and a pace that startled me, I soon found myself oppressed by his presence, watching as he walked under the apple tree and grabbed my waist, putting his free hand to my mouth, thus stifling my attempts to scream.

‘Make not a sound, I do not wish to harm you,’ were his words, words I shall never forget. At that moment I then saw Seamus approach, he was clearly perturbed and soon walked to the gates. Lyle quickly turned me so I faced him. I couldn’t help but feel his warm body or catch the whiff of his clear breath. ‘You killed the guards?’

‘Drugged them my lady, I only kill when I need to,’ he whispered as Seamus turned, his expression clearly betraying the evidence he had seen. The grey moonlight flickered between the clouds and the torchlight illuminated the gate, casting Seamus as a large shadow. He raised his pistol expectantly. ‘I know you are here,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, loud enough for the pair of us to hear. Lyle instinctively raised his own pistol. His movement was silent, like a ghost haunting his prey, like a hunter stalking his quarry. He clutched me tight, yet now his breath was silent, the movements of his chest against mine the only indication that he still sought for air.

‘Don’t,’ I whispered and could not be sure he heard. ‘Don’t,’ I repeated a little louder. He looked at me and must have seen the anguish in my eyes. There was something in his own eyes I could not read, but in any event he lowered his pistol. ‘I have no desire to deprive a mother of another son,’ he said and stepped into the light. Seamus immediately stepped forward, his pistol aimed steady to Lyle’s heart. ‘Drop the gun,’ he said, his voice betraying an element of fear. Lyle did as he was commanded. ‘I have no wish to fight you lieutenant,’ he said, his eyes shifting to see Mr. Hilmai appear from behind. He seemed to notice me but said nothing. ‘You

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come here for the ball?’ Hilmai said stepping forward. The two looked at each other, eye resting on eye, appraising one another like officers on parade. Lyle could have stayed under the tree and shot the both of them. He didn’t. Instead he gave himself up. I do not know why.

‘So you are the Legosian who killed my brothers?’

‘I am he,’ Hilmai answered. His expression, as he held his pistol high, reminded me of Lyle’s when he faced me in the shop yester past. Confident, calm, conquering.

I kept to the shadow of the tree, unmoving, holding my breath. Hilmai had seen me and had done nothing. I shall ask him if I get the chance. I do hope they don’t hurt Lyle. He could have killed me twice. He could have killed Seamus. But he didn’t. The answer to such riddles burn away in my mind.

And so I watched the outlaw, the notorious brigand, taken away. He is in this castle now, deep down in the dungeons. Seamus will be watching him; the stranger will be torturing him.

And watching on will be my father, waiting for answers.

If that tale is not enough then when I reached my chamber I saw Lok fornicating with a young woman from the ball. I did nothing but stare, and when the woman screamed I left and ran, leaving Lok to stand naked and alone. He is the true monster.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Richard’s Letter...

This is my confession. I sit here listening to the distant hum of the harbour and the rolling cry of the sea. I long to leave this place, take my life and swim with the next wave. The building I am in is built upon the riverbed at the point where the river stretches forth to become an ocean. It was a factory once and the high ceiling is still damaged because of the war. I sometimes hear the guns and think of my plight. They have forgotten me – have left me here to die. My friend, my gaoler, reads to me sometimes. I wonder some days why he stays with me. There are moments when I believe they will come for me. The hope that she might come is all I have. There is no doubt I am guilty.

The night Lyle Ramtk turned up in Count Loff’s courtyard was the night I earned his trust. It had been Seamus who had found it odd that the captain of the guard had not returned for his hourly report. That fact alone meant that we knew for sure Lyle was about to leave the castle. He was not entering it. He had already gotten what he wanted. It came as no surprise sister, that he had nothing incriminating on him.

I do not wish to share with you the crude details of his torture. I did it myself, using fire and got no answers. The Count loomed over me and snorted his irritation before leaving impatient. After another hour I was soon instructed to stop by none other than Lord Rheese Stapleton. How he knew of Lyle’s imprisonment, I will not disclose now, but he told me not to harm the man. As Seamus went to talk to him I stared at Lyle, who grinned despite his pain. ‘I have powerful friends,’ he said, spitting blood. I gazed at the outlaw jealously; he had been

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under the tree with Amelia. She had not given him up sister! ‘My friends will protect me,’ Lyle spurted. He was stripped naked and chained arm to arm, foot to foot. I leaned a little closer. ‘I have friends also,’ I said, ‘and they too are powerful.’

Lyle smiled again. ‘I know,’ he said. The words frightened me for he said the words with such certainty, and so I hit him, causing the man to pass out. Lord Rheese looked at me and shook his head. ‘You will get nothing from him dead Jacob.’

‘And what does the Count have to say about all this?’ I asked, gesturing to Lyle, his body scarred and bruised. Lord Rheese glanced away and then looked at me. ‘He does not like it but then some things are out of his hands,’ he lied. I knew it was a lie because I am trained to know truth from fiction. I could have questioned him then, but something in his eyes stopped me. It might have made my world a lot easier if Lord Rheese had never entered my life. He was a perceptive man but a good friend to the very end. As I write tears come to my eyes as I remember the events that unfolded before I was unmasked. My spine shivers at the great destruction I have created. The images are so vivid in my mind that I struggle to contain them.

That very night I remember walking under the dark sky and watching smoke blow with the wind as I drew heavily on my cigar. The icy chill made me feel alive. The sense of euphoria at his capture had given me new hope at a time when I knew nothing and so, my sister, I shall reveal only what I discerned then. True I felt elation, a sense of achievement, a release of emotion. But his words to me troubled my conscience like a flame would trouble a dry barn during harvest. I returned to Lyle disturbed, in an early morning that promised the first rains for weeks. There was no sun and the clouds rumbled, looming over us with a darkness that made me grow cold.

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That same darkness was present in the dungeons, but for a flickering of a torch attached to the wall. Lyle was conscious when I returned and he looked at me with an empty stare.

There was something in his expression that knew of answers. He was no longer naked and was chained to a chair where bread and water had been offered. The man had taken none.

We held him in the dungeons for weeks, and he received only two visitors. The second week we were ordered to use fire and flames once again. This time Lord Rheese did not stop us.

But Lyle did not break.

Each time I curbed my anger and my frustration and was surprised one day when SHE asked permission to see him. ‘Your father forbids it my lady.’

‘But my father never needs to know,’ Amelia replied, her very presence intoxicating. I was in no mood to play games. ‘You can give the man no comfort,’ I added, remembering the image of her in the shadows of the tree. ‘He is a murderer.’

‘And you have not killed before!’ she snapped suddenly, her abrupt countenance shocking me. I was fearful Lyle had a hold on her. My mind was playing tricks. ‘I kill when I need to, not when it pleases me.’

‘Oh please! You would kill an innocent man if my father instructed you so.’

‘I would partake in no such venture lightly my lady, nor with much pleasure,’ I replied.

We were at the top of the staircase leading down to the dungeons, the gaol door still ajar. She had caught me at my most unforgiving and looked at me with a fearful scorn. Her eyes had the power to humble even the hardest of hearts. I felt them burn through me. Yet they would not reach my heart this day. Jealously, rather than duty assured that. ‘Did you relish killing his

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brothers?’ she asked at length. I hesitated, remembering that hot day and the thrill of three easy kills. ‘No,’ I lied, though my eyes betrayed the truth. She scoffed mockingly. ‘You must think yourself so noble.’

‘I do my duty to your father,’ I grunted. Why was she chastising me? I was doing the will of her family and my lord. Lyle was a traitor and a murderer.

At that point, so consumed was I by my frustration, I had almost forgotten who I was.

The spy from across the seas! What a terrible web of lies I had created. So terrible I was fooling myself. Oh why was I sent here? Why come to this sordid land?

I am bitter sister, oh very bitter. For this land has taken my soul, burnt, scorched, and seared it. Such is the fire and torment of love.

It had been another hard long day, and the heat of the brazier from the dungeon had covered my face in a light screen of ash. She saw me as a monster, and for that one day, that one miserable day, I cared not.

I was angry at her, angry at her for being there that night. Angry because she wanted to see a man other than me. With a deep breath I tried to regain my composure and bowed politely before shutting the gaol door tight. I looked at her again as I locked it and found she was gazing at me like none other could. My heart almost stopped, my throat constricted. Had my words hurt her? Surely it was she who had offended me? Shaking my head I turned from her gaze, unable to hold it any longer. I would find no solace there.

*

*

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*

Extracts from Turncoat...

My friend and my leader Lyle had acted very strangely on the day of his capture. He was unusually loud, boasting about a diamond he intended to steal. I do not know whether he ever captured it. I hate him for what he did. One cannot abide a Turncoat…

On the night when Lyle went forth upon his quest, we two score outlaws were having a celebration. And within such jovialities an argument asprang. It concerned the matter of war with Legosia. ‘We will fight the enemy,’ said Lyle’s brother, Roark, evasively.

‘Yes,’ one of our gang interrupted, ‘but who is the enemy?’

Sitting next to an open fire with the stars to comfort us, there was silence for a brief time until Rufus, a short fellow with quite brilliant nerve versed. ‘Across the sea our enemy be, fighting hard, killing well, until they reach the isle across the ocean swell.’

‘Piss on them,’ a rather more lurid spectator agreed. The single and lonely Ramtk brother nodded to that tune. ‘Our quarrel is with the Count. But any man wishing to serve the empire should not hesitate. An aggressor that wishes land that is not his own by right should be fought until no ship is fit to sail again.’

A general acclamation of hurrah followed. It was left to me to point out one rather troubled fact. ‘They are not the words of your brother,’ I questioned quite deliberately. Roark, a tall man as strong as a wild boar, shifted uneasily. His brother Lyle had always been the orator, Roark as they say, the brawn. ‘I am not my brother,’ he grunted, and lit a cigarette from the fire. What a mishmash of people we were, I a lawyer, a man next to me a carpenter! Yet we both wanted change. I yearned for a system of rule whereby the absolute chains of the

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emperor could be cut. I am also a strong nationalist. The dilemma of wanting a change within my country conflicted with the war against Legosia. I will always be loyal to my people, but what Roark was suggesting bordered on submission. ‘You agree with conscription?’

Roark had hoped the matter had dropped. He eyed me suspiciously for I was but a few weeks new to the camp. ‘Though you might want the emperor dead, our quarrel is local. It is with the Count we fight and it will be until we get what we demand.’

‘The right to farm a land without paying a toll?’ I replied sceptically, ‘your brother says fighting Legosia would ruin our imports. And I have a mind to agree with him.’

‘Our exports too,’ a farmer cried.

‘But Legosia attacked us and so it is our duty to defend out nation. I shall go and enlist come the new moon,’ another man opposite me remarked. I forget his name now.

The crackling of fire made good heat for the merry throng. Stars could be seen if one looked to the heavens. The chill of the night was all but forgotten until Roark growled angrily.

‘Conscription would ruin the land, destroy the harvest, spoil our crop,’ he snapped. ‘But every man has a choice. And Legosia is in the wrong.’

‘Once again,’ I ventured, ‘your brother would disagree. He says it is the Count and the emperor that have got us into this quite ghastly mess.’

‘And that would suit you and your republican ambitions,’ Roark replied sharply and to the point. Roark was never one to evade the plain facts and so I held my tongue, for I saw the monster in our chieftain’s eyes. They spoke of rage, experience, of knowing how to kill… I know, as I did then, that he would not hesitate if I provoked him. As it was my mind was playing out its own little war. Part of me, the lawyer in me, was repellent at Legosia’s actions.

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They had quite clearly violated international law. The jingoist too saw the evil that country had done. Yet a part of me recognised this war as our own undoing. The emperor was weak, so were his royal officials. Intelligence counted for nothing if you did not herald from noble blood.

Alas, as mead and wine were had aplenty, and the trees that hid us shivered in the wind, I noticed the clouds come hither, striking a dark shadow across the land. It would rain soon, so help us‌ Cold nights lay ahead.

I could relate to you the different faces in our merry camp, but many have since died and others are either missing or confined to perpetual solitude, imprisoned because we sought to amend what could not be changed. The empire might have initiated reforms after the war, but we were still seen as traitors to our country. The carpenter I sat next to that night died days later when the rain did come, a chill constricting his elderly body. The man who said he would go and fight come the new moon did and died because of it. Others followed him, and some returned while many perished. Still some, like myself, stayed, and were put on trial for treason and sedition. Eighteen were hanged, and a dozen imprisoned for life. None were acquitted, though two did escape.

Of the eighteen loyalists who died, the poet Rufus was one. I watched him as the noose was rested around his neck. The words he spoke before he dropped have since become famous and I shall recite them in time, but not now. As a man who had grown up with Lyle and Roark, he was immensely loyal to the Ramtk brothers. Boasting black hair and as vain as the emperor himself, it was only he and I who suffered to wash and shave each day. He was a fine man, and fought for what he believed in to the last.

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The words of hope still echo in my ears, even after I closed my eyes and heard the drop on the gallows. His was a death the crowd could not cheer; such was the power of his haunting epilogue.

For me it all started with the small battle at Onis…

Lyle had crouched that morning all night, under the guise of a small ridge which reached down to a hidden brook. The water was cold, but as the sun rose we were all urged to drink the refreshing spring. We knew the plan, for it was a deception we hoped to create, using fire and steel. Onis was a town where one of our chief agents often ventured and it was this conspirator that Lyle hoped to seek.

Roark looked at his younger brother with paternal love. They had known no father and all five of the brothers had raised each other, learning how to be brothers, friends and parents.

I had arrived to the camp days after the Legosian had killed the three lesser siblings.

It would have been easy of me to have grown angry at my eventual plight. The circumstances regarding my stay with the rebels are easily explained in but two sentences; a book I had written on the subject of monarchy had been banned and a writ for my arrest issued. Thus condemned to the darkness of a dungeon I instead chose exile and so fled.

And that was why on the day of the Battle of Onis I found myself on Lyle’s right-hand side… Bliss was his tenor despite the cold of the night. He relished these adventures, like all heroes do. Skirting the town we knew that the local guard were still rising from the slumber as we attacked. Lyle led us and we would have stayed and drowned in the beck if it were not for his grace and style that inspired us all. Smoke and confusion arose after explosion aplenty occurred at the hands of those who knew the trade of fire. A pin of a grenade dropped and I

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found myself running aimlessly into a bloody nightmare. Rufus wrote a poem about it afterwards. It has since been published and heralded as a masterpiece by those who know about such things. Quite a merry verse for such a daunting and terrible day.

One of our men and five of their brave souls died, and one comrade soon followed their fate that night, cursing as he sought to keep his guts from spitting out. Others were injured but our tactics were meant to stun. Move in and move out. Roark called it the war of guerrilla. He was the first to kill and I stayed with that giant of a man as Lyle went to deliver the message.

We had hoped our contact would give us some news that might help our cause; I am unsure how helpful the charlatan was.

Killing your own countrymen is not something I count as right, but in times of need, there is no room for morals, only necessity – our necessity to be rid of the Count, my necessity to be rid of the empire. The Imperial cloak of a nation binds us and how hypocritical it is.

They come, they liberate, they conqueror and merely fade away with the erosion of time. All empires crumble, all men fall, but an idea, even a small one, can reign immortal and forever.

Bullets whizzed overhead and I was deafened by the noise, and choked at the density of black unforgiving smoke. I saw a lieutenant bark orders through the hazy smoulder and rumpus din. The furore was quite real as I aimed my rifle to fire. I missed. Rufus alongside me grinned. ‘A trigger pulled, a bullet fired, a target culled, oh what a find! A shame the hunter was so blind!’ I could not help but laugh and sought for cover as the Legosian fired in our direction. Some of our men tried to attack the lieutenant and his aide, but the Legosian soon struck one down, the lieutenant skewering another, leaving the others to retreat from their folly, leaving pride and honour with their friends, on the field of death.

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It was left to Roark to rescue the man whose gut had been pierced, the man who did not last the night. Our hero got a bullet to the upper shoulder for his troubles. He did not seem to notice until after the clash, and kept silent as our physician, whose past trade had been botany, removed the small but deadly fragment. His name, for want of clarity and future purpose, was Dr. Alexander Morcam. A drunk who decided rifles were more interesting than flowers. His end is such a heroic tale! The secrets he held, the secrets we all held should cast the reader into a spell. A spell that will only be broken by reading on.

I am surprised we lasted for as long as we did. And of course we survived because of Lyle, Lyle and his older brother Roark. How magnificent they both were, leading us from Onis victorious. There would be happier times and there would be times when more of our friends would perish because of our beliefs. Ideology is an attraction. You can love it if it bends to your will.

And then the next day Lyle got captured. He seemed quite possessed. Even his brother could not understand such a foolish venture. Rufus would not say a word, only smile. It was too late in the evening for Dr. Morcam to contribute anything but a hideous stench of alcohol.

Eli, a man whose cruel and foul tongue has no equal, suggested madness. True madness.

‘Bugger’s like a sheep without his coat in winter.’

‘Walking into the den of wolves, forever ill, to beget a message no one knows,’ Rufus mused, his eyes betraying more than his elegiac words. I am sure Lyle confided in him, for Lyle always went to Rufus for advice. And none was better in giving it.

There was a clear sense of nostalgia around the camp when we heard of the dreaded news. Lyle imprisoned in the dungeons of the Count. There was no reaction from Roark, but

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his insistence that any man could leave to join the war, contrary to his brother’s whim, was perhaps more telling than the argument itself. Lyle had been a fool. And in his own way Roark was telling us this without elucidating the hold of his lucid thoughts. When all else was lost I did not begrudge the eldest surviving Ramtk brother. But his younger sibling, the brother who had found himself captured for a diamond, I felt, I feel, nothing but contempt.

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CHAPTER SIX

Amelia’s Diary...

Love is not knowing where your heart really is until after you realise happiness has passed you by. Such a silly feeling, because most of the time it is indescribable. You cannot speak it aloud for fear of breaking its spell. There has to be a cure, for the heart is a fragile thing. To be in love is a rare thing indeed. I have heard tell that it is the eyes you fall in love with first. They stare at you as if through a mirror, speaking too you. They smile even before a smile is formed.

And then, as a man does smile, you notice his teeth. If he is blessed with an affable set then you may make an assessment regarding his hair. Then you study his posture; is he dark? Is he handsome? Is he tall, short or fat? And most of all, without which, his other qualities are rendered meaningless, is he rich?

I look for a man, when perhaps I should look, instead, for love. Maybe I never will discover it again. For too many never find love, their souls empty, their lives dark, wandering eternal paths that lead only to sorrow. Love is the soul made complete. Sometimes you hate it because you fear you shall never obtain it. If anybody were to read these words they might scoff or sneer at such sentiments. Love is a game, they would say, it has no rules. It plays out in whatever way it wishes, regardless of one’s feelings. Then, perhaps we have those who pretend to shun love, their mood sour, their happiness gone. They curse love, saying it is too silly a sentiment to dwell on. They will pretend to hate it, loathing a particular romance because, they say, fiction does not play out like reality. They are the same people, the people who

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outwardly rebuke the feeling of romance, that when home, cry because they yearn, more than any, not to be alone.

But one can be in love and be alone, at that I am quite sure, living a life given to someone else, unrequited. If I could feel love, touch it, I would capture it and place it in a jar. Alas, love is too illusive a creature. And I, not knowing my own heart, will never be happy until love finds me, cries out to me, embraces me. And stays with me forever.

Why do I write such nonsense now? My husband-to-be is an ass. I do not get to choose my partner in life. Marriage is patronage, money, security. Love does not come in to it. It will likely pass you by at the most inopportune time, frightening you because you are wrestling with the notion, that somewhere, sometime, love will find you but you do not, or cannot, say yes‌ Today was a most boring affair, an occasion when life just whittles away, unable to stop that dreaded motion because you are pining for the words of fiction to become a work of reality. I write this diary to escape, to be transported into a world where I will find happiness and happiness will find me. And then I wake up and realise that father comes back from a hunt wishing he had sired an heir. Lok would not do, he will not do. I am resolved never to marry the man, I shall run away. Never to return.

Then there is intrigue. To be intrigued about a man and wonder, just wonder whether he has eyes like that of a thousand spring mornings, beautiful, full of life, irresistibly attractive.

Can a woman, one that is betrothed to another, hope – no not hope, it is too unpredictable a word. Allow – allow herself to have eyes for another, wondering if you are brave enough to

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step from the road set out before you. The road of conformity. Or can you stray? Can you break the chains that bind you and run across fields and glades evergreen?

I am dreaming again. Such a disturbing fantasy…

I will forever be my own woman. I shall not let men dictate their will on me. I will control my own life. And, of course, I can control any man. But I cannot control love.

If I were to turn from my father’s road I would surely find happiness of a sort. I would be rid of Lok for a start. Oh if only I could find a way to ruin him, expose him for the evil man he is.

The stranger has seen it, Mr. Hilmai I mean. He has seen Lok, or as I call him, ‘The Great Beast’, at his worst. He has also seen me at my most vulnerable, and for that I wish I could take back.

I shall grant that Mr. Hilmai is not like the Beast. He has manners for a start. He reads and recites poetry, though I am quite positive he does it to gain an advantage over other men. I am sure he is a brute. And he can be quite rude as well as aggressive when he wishes. He looks at me as if I have done him an injustice. Maybe he hides manliness, and it comes in feral flashes. Dark and sinister. Rude, quite rude. Manners incumbent only when he seeks to impress. How dare he, little better than a servant to my father, deny me the request to see our prisoner.

Little does he know, it is I, not he, who wields the power, nay the authority to control.

Mr. Hilmai, I can do whatever I wish, whenever I choose. I had thought you quite becoming at first, almost likeable. I know you saw me under that tree. I confess your stare quite frightened me. I had almost thought love had wrapped around me.

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How mistaken we women are. We can hope to find a man of true virtue and honour. But then I should really realise, like we all should, that men are men and are incapable of change.

Lok, Mr. Hilmai, father, even Lyle, I am sure, will not own me. For I am nobody’s property.

They cannot purchase me, unless it is I, and not them that wishes it so. These are my feelings on this matter and they shall not likely change for the better…

We elite have many balls. And today was no different. This time it was a celebration in merriment of my cousin’s firstborn. I am so happy for her. Children are precious things. I cannot see my future without the little darlings in my life.

This ball was like any other. There was a string quartet, this time joined by a brass and wind section. Gowns of the most expensive taste were put on show. Men sought to impress, and women flirted most scandalously. Dances were met with a jubilance and delight. Families schemed and mother’s scouted the rooms for eligible, rich bachelors.

And yet this ball was quite different because of my father’s incessant insistence on one particular matter. Lyle had been imprisoned for two months, and I had seldom seen his face, for it hid in the darkness of the dungeons. Imagine my surprise then when I saw him, his bruises disguised, at my father’s side as the host of the festivities was announced. I was surprised further to see Mr. Hilmai attend his first public ball since his confinement.

I know why they did it. It was a show of power, as well as an illustration of grace, and a demonstration of forgiveness. My father and Mr. Hilmai were trying to distinguish between the republican sympathisers and the imperialist. Such devilish creatures.

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‘May I trouble you for the next dance?’ a voice spoke in my ear. I turned and saw darling Seamus. His face reminded me of his brother, the memory still a mourning sorrow. I curtsied as he bowed lightly. The fourth dance of the evening was yet to finish and I smiled graciously.

‘And suffer Lok’s wrath?’

‘My lady it is entirely for that reason that I asked you,’ Seamus answered, his face holding back a pert smile. I laughed genuinely, happy to be in the company of a friend. ‘So you only dance with me to scorn another? I had hoped there were other qualities that led you here.’

‘Only conversation, for I dare not comment on your beauty for thought of betraying my brother’s memory.’ I turned away then, quite shaken and made to leave. Only Seamus’s light touch stopped me from doing so. I hope, for his sake, nobody saw.

I turned back to him, my eyes filling with tearful memories. Seamus Croft, my good and loving friend, hesitated, before leaning forward so that our conversation was made private. We spoke at just above a whisper. The intimacy made me happy, not because I felt for Seamus.

Though I love him, it is with sisterly love for a friend who was a good and caring brother. How I grieved when Henry fell. Fell to the sword of Lyle Ramtk. My father’s prisoner, and erstwhile guest.

‘There was a time,’ Seamus said pausing, ‘when we did not have to whisper in corners.’ I smiled sadly. ‘Things change. We grew up. I found Lok.’ ‘Your father found Lok,’ Seamus replied hoarsely, ‘and I know you do not love him.’

‘How can I when my heart is still given to another, and Lok persists to be a devil and a flirt. What is he doing here?’ I asked glancing at Lyle, his eyes meeting mine across the crowded room. I asked the question not intrigued but rather irate because of the memories I

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was reliving this night. Seamus gave the prisoner a momentary look. ‘Your father thought it the perfect opportunity to discourage any treacherous empathisers within his court. Note the bruises to his face.’

‘Your friend Mr. Hilmai’s work I presume?’ I asked, Seamus noticing the animosity within my address. After a deliberate pause he nodded. ‘Jacob is a good man when you get to know him. He likes your father, and if you gave him a chance, you would like him.’

‘Then I shall try and be more forthcoming, though only at your recommendation. But Lyle’s presence tonight hurts more than a foreigner’s disdain.’

‘Disdain?’ Seamus repeated amused, ‘you think Jacob dislikes you?’ He almost laughed. ‘If that is the only reason you judge him so, then perhaps you had better oblige in conversation with the poor fellow more often. As for Lyle, I can quite understand, but on repeated occasions Jacob has told me of your desire to see him in the dungeons. You had wanted to see him then but not now?’ My feelings towards Lyle are confused and I must confess I hesitated to look at the man again. After a stare a few seconds longer than I dared, I turned back to Seamus, who ignored my second glace. ‘I cannot talk to the man who killed Henry?’

‘It would do no good if you did. Henry is dead and he died in battle against a better man.

You cannot blame Lyle for what he did,’ Seamus said, quite surprising me. As I write this I never cease to be amazed at my friend’s humble and wise countenance. But is Lyle really a better man then Henry? He has qualities I am sure. But too often I grow angry at the sight of him. He is a killer is he not? Then there are times when I look at him and see Henry. They don’t just look similar, but in my brief judgement of Lyle, they are also of the same character, witty, surprising and enchanting. Oh how I yearned for my room, my solitude this night!

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I danced with Seamus for the next three, avoiding Lok, who did much the same with indignant pride. Anybody new to this merriment and glee would never have guessed that we were betrothed. How gay a ball can be! But at the same time, how monstrously boring. Once Seamus left me I was quite alone, but for a dance with some rather dull officers from my father’s regiment.

Poor Seamus. Poor Henry. If only things had worked out differently. I wonder, do we fear death? Do we mourn for those gone? Do we mourn for those who are going to die?

Loneliness is a terrible feeling, it is a feeling of incomparable emptiness and complete futility. I have felt it. I felt it when Henry died and I feel it still. Feeling alone in a crowd, feeling down when others are happy. When Seamus left me and unravelled my tragic past I felt an emptiness in my heart that only love can heal. For love took it away.

How awful I must sound writing this, but then tonight, feelings are resurfacing I thought buried. The ball! What a wonderful ball for my dear cousin! So radiant she was! But I must confess, how monstrously noisy her poor babe was! The little thing wouldn’t stop crying. It scared half the women in the ball. If that is what babies do then we should sooner let our husbands care for them and send ourselves off to war.

It was later than usual when we feasted. Father had wanted fresh strawberries for dessert and cook had fretted and mumbled that it did not matter how good a cook he was, he could not fashion fresh strawberries when they were not in season! Father didn’t notice any difference when they were served, packaged from the southern tropics. He seldom does. In fact it was Lyle Ramtk who politely commented on the fruit. ‘Quite brilliant, the Hundor region I believe.’

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‘That would be correct, although likely from the south,’ Jacob Hilmai answered defiantly.

After a brief pause Lyle gave a short nod, his eyes testing Mr. Hilmai’s resolve. ‘I concur most reverently. Tell me Mr. Hilmai, how goes your conscience knowing the country of your birth fights Armintia?’

‘One could ask the same question regarding you I think,’ Mr. Hilmai answered eating a single strawberry delicately. Clearly father was ignoring the conversation or was otherwise engaged, for he did not notice the animosity between the two men. Others surely did, for the light conversation was suddenly cut. Guests looked at each other uneasily before Lyle apologised. Mr. Hilmai simply shrugged, and glanced at me once before continuing to eat. The two did not speak again and Seamus almost gave me an apologetic look. My friend vouched for him and yet in return Lyle received a curt shrug. Seamus says there is more in this stranger than meets my prejudiced eye, and so I shall reserve judgement for now.

The rest of the meal was sufficiently pleasing without surpassing excellence. I had better compliment cook at any rate.

The rest of the evening was passed with pleasantries and it wasn’t until I was thinking about retiring for the night that the queerest thing happened. I found myself alone with Lyle Ramtk. I felt his presence even before I saw him. A looming figure that breathed ever so gently on my neck. The light touch prickled my skin and made me shiver. I turned with a polite smile and greeted him like a lady should. He in turn bowed and asked me a question, one I had not expected but had asked all night long. ‘You find it surprising I am here Lady Amelia?’

I flushed. I should not have done, but his face, his voice, his countenance. They make me vulnerable. He has a confidence about him, a confidence like Mr. Hilmai, and yet a face that

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can be trusted, eyes that say as much as his voice, his mouth a perfect match. I wonder whether I could deign to like him. Then I remember he is a murderer and a traitor. Intrigue or not, I am loyal to my father before any man, except myself. ‘You flatter yourself Mr. Ramtk, I hardly noticed you all evening, and here you come conversing with a woman, engaged no less, without a chaperone!’

‘I apologise my lady I do not wish to offend, I just wanted to felicitate you on your wonderful gown,’ Lyle remarked. I shot him an affronted glance. ‘So now you are a flirt?’

‘Well no, I mean I do not mean to be one. I’m sorry,’ he retorted again, lowering his gaze.

I wanted to smile but instead I took a deep breath. ‘That is the second time you have apologised. I wonder whether you might want to try doing so next time my father asks you questions.’

‘You think I am in the wrong?’

‘You are my father’s prisoner are you not?’ I asked.

‘Guest,’ he twisted, ‘perhaps I will even be invited to the High Games in four days time,’ he added, stepping closer so he could lower his voice. I did not move, though I hoped the few guests that were still in the hall were too busy to witness our private tête-à-tête. ‘You do know,’ I said, ‘that Mr. Hilmai, your captor, is a prisoner as well.’

‘Funny definition we both have of prisoners, or indeed a prison,’ Lyle replied at length. I shrugged and stepped aside into an alcove so that my face was concealed to all but Lyle. A tall evergreen tree, planted in a pot, and one of my father’s fancies, acted as my shield. ‘He has to prove to my father that he is no spy. If he left he would be hunted down and shot.’

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‘Poor man.’ I could not tell whether he betrayed sarcasm or not. I shrugged. ‘I still find it quite disconcerting that you encroach on me so,’ I added after a pause. He smiled a smile that defeated my own resistance to remain aloof. ‘You are a tease Lady Amelia. I would never presume or resolutely tarnish your reputation. Even after torture I did not mention to your father our little conversation under the tree.’

‘How gentlemanly of you.’

‘Well I do try, though at times I am not sure why,’ Lyle replied, his smile ever increasing.

I gave a small laugh. ‘You are a terrible sham Mr. Ramtk!’ I confessed a little too loudly. Lyle turned round and it seemed we were the only people left in the room. ‘There is no need to offend,’ he said in a calmer voice. ‘I am after all your guest.’

‘Prisoner.’

‘A prisoner with privileges then,’ Lyle conceded. I shrugged again. ‘Makes little difference, you’re still a murderer and a traitor,’ I said lightly. His smile vanished. His eyes now a cold stare, like that of the dark starless night. There was a weighty pause before he replied. ‘You talk about things you do not know, and have only heard stories from your father.

He is as much a monster as I.’ ‘You show little remorse for your crimes,’ I said, faltering slightly. He looked at me then and hesitated before speaking clearly. ‘You refer of course to Captain Henry Croft.’

‘I am sure you have killed others.’

‘But you were friends with him were you not?’

‘Our families were close,’ I replied slowly, ‘his father was my father’s steward.’

‘Ah a forbidden love!’

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‘Do not tease me Mr. Ramtk for I do not have to reveal my heart to you,’ I replied angrily, fighting back my tears by lowering my gaze. Lyle nodded. I think he knew he had gone too far.

‘Again I must apologise. And I shall leave you now, but I am truly sorry that it was my sword that killed your friend. He was a brave and talented soldier.’ I am sure he saw a tear but he said nothing. I hated him for what he did to Henry. But I cannot hate him forever; he was sincere I am sure. Perhaps tomorrow I shall begrudge him a little less.

Before he turned he looked at me and bowed. I did not smile but his words have troubled me since he elucidated them earlier this very night. ‘I shall reveal my heart to you nonetheless,’ he said. My expression was confusion. ‘The act of a gentleman I’m sure,’ I replied acerbically. Lyle shrugged. ‘Perhaps I am not. After all I was not born into a noble’s family.

Nor will I ever have anything in common with men like your father. But you say I am a prisoner. And perhaps you are right, yet I assure you I will not be one for long.’

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Extracts from Turncoat…

The hills are a cold place. But we men are tough. Tougher still for the fires that light up the night. Plans were made of course. Plans for Lyle’s escape. But we were too late. It was not we who helped in the flight of Lyle Ramtk. Not that his flight was this day. For this day, two months after he was confined to the dark gaols, marked the day of the High Games – a feudal tradition that seeks to bring noble and subjects together in a merriment of tournaments and entertainment. The author of this novel attended the soirée because our band thought the Count would not recognise me. Verily, the poet Rufus accompanied me, his cheery verse a welcome friend on our journey down the Hindrin. Of course it was not for the entertainment that attracted us thus…

Like most days in Armintia the sun was gazing down on us all, lighting the sky and warming our hearts. In the old days, before we turned to just one God, there were those who prayed to the Sun God Hunras – a pagan fallacy that brought all together in a feast under the sky. ‘Behold the mighty that have fallen. Rejoice for the Sun shines. Hunras smiles. As we few under the clouds die,’ Rufus quipped, fully expecting me to agree. I have to confess I did no such thing, because I did not appreciate his meaning. Alas there are some verses that Rufus recited which I do not understand, cryptic as they were. He was forever an enigma. A great mind who talked in riddles. I mention this particular text because I now comprehend those words which were uttered as we sighted the Games. They mean just this; traditions endure even if the reason for the feasting has been forgotten.

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We walked our way into the multitude that made up the crowd, a little nervous but irrefragably oblivious. The courtiers were blowing on their trumpets and two temporary stands were constructed – built in such a way that harked back to the days when gunpowder was but a dream. The throng amongst us were the common folk. The Count was seated in the stands attending the royal box. He would not be the target on this day.

If one is not familiar with the High Games then it would be apt to describe such trivialities as a trial of champions. A competition between two men. A test of skill, strength and courage. All fanciful feudal humdrum of course.

A square section had been assigned for just such action. Railings were placed around the enclosure where the two opposite stands did not meet. Stalls and caravans, hoping to feed on the crowd, were situated all around the doomed theatre. The sun would still be shining come the end, but it would not be a happy day.

Rufus had ambled off nonchalantly to mark our target. Two men were already fighting in the middle, with swords drawn, attracting a small crowd. I could hear the groans and the cheers as each adversary sought to outwit his foe. There was a vibrant din around the makeshift arena. A definite rumpus of anxiety and pleasure as swords clashed. The commotion was a terrible hubbub to my sensitive ears. This was a barbaric custom which had lasted and continued even when war was taking those who died in the modern tradition. There is of course something irretrievably more romantic about one dying by the clean cut of a sword, rather than been scooped up by your friend, blown to oblivion by that fateful and omniscient shell.

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After a loud cheer that signalled victory I pushed my way to the front and placed my hands on the poles of the fence. There I saw the Count smiling, talking to one of his lackeys. A man in the middle, a captain I believe, was lifting his sword up high in appreciation of the crowd. What a pathetic fool. It would have been just to have sent him to the otherworld, for he seemed a pompous man of elderly years. An officer in the Count’s Regiment. Charles L’breé I later learned. Roark would one day send him to his grave for he would be a dangerous man in days to come, offering a terrible resistance to our cause months later, charged with hunting down our band.

The next man that walked into death’s grip was a lieutenant announced as Croft. He had his sword drawn ready for his opponent and had walked from his camp that contained a man we all knew as the Legosian. Jacob Hilmai. I saw him, his face impassive, his mood impossible to fathom. I watched the man who had killed Roark and Lyle’s brothers and choked for breath when his eyes peered into my heart. At the time I was sure he saw past my façade but later I realised his look was but a lucky glance that betrayed nothing.

I had not felt tension as surmountable as that day. Knowing I was part of what was to become, filled me with dread and excitement. A smile gently formed at my lips as Croft’s adversary stepped forward. Moments later the bout began and I was intrigued and amazed at the speed and skill of the two soldiers. The crowd could not help but cheer and drew deep rasping breaths at the talent unveiled to them on that day. I am no expert on swordplay but I believed that Croft was having the better of the initial exchanges. He parried a high angled blade and fenced at another, before dancing on his feet in a way that made him the aggressor.

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The swarm of bystanders were drunk on the exhilaration and daring. But after just five minutes I was bored and looked towards Jacob Hilmai. His face was as unreadable as a dormant rock. When one particular moment made everyone gasp he simply looked away, disinterested.

There was a confidence in him I could not place. I had no doubt that if he wished he could have stepped forward and taken both blades from the entrants in such a way that would leave all amazed.

I might have been able to kill him then. One lucky shot and revenge would have been satisfied. But I knew Roark wanted that honour for himself and my life would have been forfeited if I had taken the chance.

The duel may have lasted longer than the previous contest and I was surprised to see that the Count’s daughter had come down from the stands to congratulate Lieutenant Croft on his victory. ‘In the man who cannot find the needle he wishes to bind, we now observe a weakness in one moment’s display of the emotions, loving and kind,’ Rufus muttered, suddenly appearing at my side. I looked at him, and then at Croft with Lady Amelia, before frowning.

Could she be used as leverage? Was this a sign of public affection for the man she loved?

‘Betrothed to another is she not?’ I heard a man behind me murmur.

I talked to Rufus noticing that Jacob seemed to be berating the Count’s daughter. I saw a flicker of anger in Amelia’s eyes and a nod of assent from Croft indicating that whatever Jacob had said, he was in the right. ‘So the lieutenant is the man,’ I said, leaving the sentence unfinished for fear of being overheard. Rufus did not look at me. ‘Capture not for he is blind.

His brother’s death. Her past we unwind.’ It was lucky that the people that surrounded us had

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no notion of poetry, for a clever student might well have understood Rufus’s rhyme. I rubbed my chin. ‘They do not look like lovers.’

‘Lovers seldom do,’ the poet mused. I nodded, hesitating before changing the subject. ‘Is it done?’

Rufus seemed to smile. ‘What’s done is done. We have pointed the gun.’

‘Your friend alright?’ an eavesdropper asked me, clearly perplexed by Rufus’s strange verse. I nodded. ‘The physician believes him mad but a brother knows better,’ I replied, trying to avert suspicion. ‘Mad! Mad! All Mad. It makes thine brother so very sad!’ Rufus beamed, enjoying the brief façade. It seemed to work for the man shrugged and walked away. I made a mental note of his face for I knew the poor soul would have to die. He had heard too much.

Rufus would find him before the festivities could finish. Such were the certainties in life.

And so the third bout.

The one we had been waiting for.

Had timed the entire show around.

A nobleman’s son was fighting. In homage to his family and patronage we had arranged a little surprise; for him and the Count.

He came out from his pavilion sword in hand, dark hair trailing in the breeze. A heroic entrance. ‘Every hero dies,’ I found myself muttering.

‘The poet speaks thus,’ Rufus mocked quietly. We waited.

The second swordsman appeared, ready to do battle and the crowd cheered. The Count himself dropped his hand to begin the fight. Swords clashed and sweat was mixed with the dust of the ground. A huge excited cry erupted as the nobleman drew first blood. I frowned.

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Though the blades were meant to be blunted, it seemed that the sword of this particular young man was sharper than most. For that he deserved to die.

Another cut to the opponent’s thigh alerted the crowd to the deceit. Some sections began to hiss their disapproval while others, hungry for blood, cheered. Yet it was clear after only moments later that the fight could not continue, for the poor gentleman who had received the wound was slowing as blood gushed from his leg. Realising the potential horror, there was a clear hush around the camp as each man sought to outwit the other. The nobleman with the dark hair seemed to be smiling as a series of blows brought his foe to one knee. I shook my head and turned away when a trumpet was sounded with shrill finality. ‘Death comes, he swallows the young, cheats the living but has no fun,’ Rufus versed as an attendant ran from the stands to treat the wounded soldier. The note from the trumpet meant the bout had to be stopped and the nobleman stepped back, raising his sword in a cheated victory. ‘Blow blow says the wind, come fire or rain, he will have his end.’

I smiled at that. For it had been arranged. Earlier Rufus had met one of our contacts within the nobleman’s employ. A groom no less. In doing so he had been given a package which had been set up for one outcome only. A trip of the wire and an explosion would ring.

We watched as the nobleman basked in his glory, feeding off the jeering and cheering of the respective spectators who saw fit to judge him as either a hero or a villain. I had no doubt his role belonged to the latter.

Slowly he turned, smiling and bowing to the Count, raising his sword one last time to the Lady Amelia before walking back towards his doom. Pavilion waiting we watched. I could not

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be sure but I thought I heard Rufus whispering, ‘tick tock tick tock,’ in dark disturbing anticipation.

The soldier handed his sword to a squire before walking quickly into the dark. Rufus would later write a poem about this day. Though the final draft was changed I believe the original version of the last line ended thus: ‘Howl! Scream! Here lies fire. It has burned so no more can he dream.’

I waited and shivered in a moment of evil ecstasy. Lyle would later berate us for such wickedness, but that was months later after he had changed. For that instant I felt fate had brought this to pass. I expected horror and death and yet when it came I still jumped as men and women shrieked in fear. Rufus did not flinch.

For the fire had come at last.

*

*

*

Amelia’s Letter...

The problem with Mr. Hilmai, and it is no fault of his own, is that he is ugly. Or perhaps that is being too critical. His features are rough and ill-defined not quite equally matched, providing a disturbing countenance to an equilibrium, in which, I fear, can never be remedied. Poor, stupid man. I perhaps could pretend to like him if his nose did not quite offend as it does. How cruel I am. But then this is my diary, my heart. And who is ever going to be so fortunate as to possess either?

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I do not dismiss Jacob entirely, for that would be foolish. I have written before, there are times when he can surprise even my critical eye. He can have a gentle charm, something quite unbecoming in any man. But such qualities are rarely bestowed now and were only evident when I first met him, in the courtyard. He had wanted to comfort me that night when I had fought with Lok, and a part of me desired him to do so.

Yet at the High Games, that terrible fiasco, he had the cheek to reprimand me in front of the whole world. He told me I should not have come down to congratulate Seamus for it, and I quote: ‘Illustrated an affection that could put you both at risk.’ What foolishness! The silly man even warned me to be weary of Lyle’s intentions. Intentions, implying my father’s prisoner has spun a web around me and baited me to his lair. Such silly fancies from Mr. Hilmai are not true. And even if they were what right does he have meddling in my affairs? …Today was a simply marvellous day. The sun refused to die in a time when I fear too many men, and women I hasten to add, lose their lives in this hated war. I feel guilty for feeling contented, for among the other horrors on the day of the Games a man was found dead, his body gently damming a small brook from a laceration to his throat. Everybody expects the culprits to be Lyle’s cronies. I have heard tell stories about his brother Roark that have sent terrible shivers down my spine. Though some maybe rumours I have no doubt other tales to be true.

Lyle himself was in his dungeon lair on the day of the explosion, or at least, that is what I was told. That one appearance at the ball seems to be his only outing under my father’s hall.

Society cannot tolerate him. The prisoner returns to his gaol.

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I had an acquaintance write me a letter declaring quite unfitting sentiments for this day.

Why should I grieve? Why should I be a prisoner of sorrow? Society cannot force grief on me.

In any event I am more concerned with the plight of the war this day, than the death of a man who meant nothing to me. The advent of such anxiety flows from a conversation I overheard concerning my father and a colonel in the Emperor’s Own Regiment. I shall try and recite it as well as memory serves.

We were in the courtyard and I was taking a turn on the back of Snowbell. The colonel is a guest and an old friend of my father’s, and they thought me aloof to the conversation they were having. But my ears were alert and I resolved to remember the names mentioned, for the tidings seemed precarious at best, damning at worst.

‘The Falore Regiment took the brunt of the assault at Crickery,’ (a southern beach I later learned this evening, researching in the library) ‘and the bloody Legosian Legion have a new commander-in-chief,’ the colonel grunted, perturbed. Father seemed to scratch his cheek, a reaction I know only occurs when he is faced with ill news. ‘Do we know him?’

‘A Marshal Roush,’ the colonel answered, ‘damned fine credentials.’

Father nodded, forcing himself not to scratch again. ‘I know of him. He’s good. Seems Legosia are taking this war seriously after all. Who’s on his staff?’

‘His Chief of Staff is a General de Goúth?’ the colonel answered, unsure about the name. I could see the name meant little to father, or rather he could not place it with a face. He paused to look at me and I smiled fittingly. ‘I’ll see if Hilmai knows anything,’ he said barking an order to an attendant to find Mr. Hilmai at once. ‘What else?’

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The colonel sniffed, a small breeze disturbed the tranquillity of the humid air around them – a breeze I felt more so high on Snowbell’s back. ‘We captured a spy, an intelligence officer no less, one week ago in Onis.’

‘Onis?’ father barked before lowering his voice so that I only just caught his next words, ‘why was I not told about this sooner?’

‘The Emperor trusted the Ranger’s to extract certain information.’

‘And what do we have?’

‘Not much,’ the colonel admitted, looking up to see that I had trotted round a little too close. Little did he know that I pride myself on the excellence of my hearing. He lowered his voice but I still caught most of what he said. ‘The spy has a rank of Major and is also a Knight.

We know the second fact to be true because only a Legosian Knight could sustain that much pain without talking.’

‘Send him to my dungeons and I’ll make him talk,’ father growled. Writing now I am not sure he would for Lyle has yielded nothing in face of iron and rod. In any case the colonel shook his head as if to say such a proposal mattered little. ‘Bit his own tongue off,’ I heard him remark, ‘so he’s useless.’

That made my stomach turn and I did not hear the next few words as I steered Snowbell to the far end of the courtyard. How could any man bite off his own tongue? These Knights seem both brave and inhuman.

Snowbell gave a small grunt and bucked, scenting a new presence joining the two men.

After keeping to the far end of the courtyard I looked up to see Mr. Hilmai approach them.

Kicking my heels I resolved to pick an apple from the tree as a ruse to creep closer. My father

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seemed cold with the Legosian, an abrasive affront that was obvious, even as Mr. Hilmai bowed in greeting. ‘You sent for me lord?’

‘Yes Hilmai. We have some names for you. I wonder if you could shed any light on their expertise or experience?’

‘Legosian Army?’

The colonel nodded in place of father. ‘Roush has taken the helm.’

Mr. Hilmai nodded. The name clearly meant something to him. ‘He’s competent, though places too much faith in his artillery,’ he replied. Father grunted. ‘What was the name of his Chief of Staff George?’

My father’s friend paused. ‘General Henri de Goúth,’ he stated at length. I noticed that Mr. Hilmai hesitated. He seemed to glance at me before he responded to my father. ‘A nobleman. Five sons, all in the army.’

‘Ah yes!’ father exclaimed, ‘I thought I recognised the name. The de Goúth family. Four sons now though I believe. I heard his youngest died at the Drovetree landings.’

Mr. Hilmai nodded. ‘I did not realise.’

‘It matters little,’ father replied dismissively, ‘I only want to know if he’s got balls or brains? Is he good man?’

Mr. Hilmai looked dangerously submissive. He shrugged. ‘He is known to be one of the best.’

‘Proven?’

‘Was a Knight for ten years on active service. Later commanded the Regiment of Knights until Earl Reginald of Porta attained command three years ago,’ Mr. Hilmai stated.

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‘You know a lot about these Knights?’

Mr. Hilmai nodded. ‘Specially trained; they are the best. Better than the Armintian Ranger. As a boy I wanted to be one. They wouldn’t take me.’

‘Never mind that, I care little for your patriotic zeal’ father growled, ‘I would like a written report on all of the officers on Roush’s staff. George here will provide you with the names.’

I didn’t hear anymore for father told me to find Mizzy and don the colour of black. It was an interesting conversation though and one worth reciting. Mr. Hilmai gave me a secondary glance before he left. I detected a sadness in his eyes. He is a traitor, trading information with the enemy. As a Legosian, I wonder if he enjoys it. I wonder what it feels to betray all those you know. To betray the land of your birth.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Richard’s Letter...

My condition worsens. It is so painful, this sickness of mine. The nurses dress me once a day, for what good it does. I have an infection, they say it is creeping up my body and will slowly kill me. I have heard nothing new. For most of the day I am left alone to write my dear sister.

Write to you of my confession and my story. My tale of woes. The emotional adventure that spun me into this wilderness.

How can I allege to you the chill I felt sister? Words do not often fit emotions. Perhaps you need to have been in love to understand these writings. I am alone and dying. I have been torn and have been beaten. Crushed and my heart scourged.

There is an emptiness to my soul, a soul enslaved by love. It consumes and cripples me.

Love has brought darkness not light, bringing forth a shadow that looms forever in my heart. I yearn for the day when I shall be rid of it. That day will come soon. I can feel it. I’m praying for it.

There is only one force stronger than love. That force will free me forever, unbind my chains and take my soul. On that day I shall thank Death for releasing me from life and the insanity of affection, burning, longing, love.

I am alone here. Yes there are hundreds of other wounded in this building, but I am alone. For to be alone is to be unloved, imprisoned by its power, helpless, conquered and poisoned. Addicted to an affection you seek, craving to be rid of loneliness.

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The fear sister, is to love and yet not taste its joy. A joy as transient as a leaf in autumn, or as fleeting as the wind in summer. It is there, full of life, invisible, hitting you with a force of terrible finality. I remember one merry month returning from a revelry hosted by Lord Rheese, expecting love to consume me, fill me with elation and bliss. Instead it broke me. After that night I could no longer feel happiness, for I was alone and hopelessly enchanted. The spell has a hold on me to this very day.

In my time acting as Count Loff’s liaison and informant I resolved to speak truth. It surprised me to hear of my father’s involvement in the war. He was loyal to Legosia, I was not.

It was sometime later when I heard the demise of my poor older brothers. Their call to darkness is not a happy tale and came from quite an unlikely source, but alas you will not have heard the truth and so I see it as my duty to tell you dear sister. Our father’s death is a separate tragedy months later. I know for I saw him die. It was our own dear father who confirmed the truth regarding our older siblings. No doubt you have heard tales of honour, bravery and heroism. They were likely exaggerated. All except our eldest died in a landing craft assault before even reaching the beach. Their bodies have not been found, drowned in the blood of an unforgiving sea. Will’s fate was quite different.

I am the last of our male legacy. No children will grow up to bear the name of de Goúth.

In years to come all will be forgotten sister. It is a wish for all the dead to be remembered. I hope history will find a place for me.

The third month of Lyle’s confinement brought me to his dark and rotting lair. I had recently provided information regarding the officers of certain Legosian battalions. Count Loff had been pleased with my progress but after the terror of the High Games he had grown

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impatient. He wanted both Ramtk brothers and their band swinging from a tree. Subsequently I found myself percolating information from our prisoner. I had purposefully refrained from using the worst methods of torment on him, a fact Lyle knew. ‘You have not taken my eyes, threatened my manhood, or roasted my back. If you wanted the information then I would have started with the latter, then plucked each eye before taking away the instrument of men.

Oh how they would plead for mercy then.’

‘Amelia thinks you a monster,’ I replied, ‘I see your words confirm her doubts.’

‘She is unsure of me. But then so would I when explosions happen so close, killing those you love.’

I gave a cynical laugh. ‘You do not love those you wish dead. The deceased was a stranger to everyone. Lady Amelia most of all.’

‘Still you wish to know if my men were behind the slaughter? Did you ever find the victim’s other leg?’ he added with a smirk. I pretended not to hear and shrank back, leaning against the gaol wall. ‘A pageboy from Quor recognised a man in the crowd we know as Talkville. He is an outlaw, an enemy of the empire. His essay The Failure of Kings is among the books known to be banned. He joined your band after fleeing the idea of prison and was accompanied by another that day we know as the poet Rufus. His literature too, has been outlawed. Two begrudging men blew up a man nobody liked. The problem was the Count saw it, which was perhaps the whole point. So you see I am not as clueless as you think.’

‘But you want me to tell you where they and my brother dwell?’ Lyle injected, his eyes searching mine. He smiled. ‘I am afraid I cannot. They are constantly on the move. And since I

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have been a happy guest here these past few months, I couldn’t possibly know their destination.’

‘But you knew about the Games,’ I said, watching his expression and finding nothing. He shrugged. ‘Guards talk a little too loud perhaps.’

‘Or you have ears where you should not,’ I answered deigning to sit on a single chair.

Lyle was still bound, his clothes now nothing more than dirty rags, fit only for grovelling peasants. My statement seemed to make the man think, for he looked down before replying to my taunt. ‘It would be fitting would it not if I had someone working for me within your master’s pay?’ he said at length. His words made me frown. Had he revealed something to me or was he playing more tiresome games? I looked into his beaten face and saw a man of supreme confidence. Even then, when he was destined to die, he still found a strength few could draw upon. He sat down purposefully and looked at his swollen fingers. ‘What if I were to tell you the man who died was a traitor, in the pay of Legosia?’

‘I would say you lie very well.’

Lyle laughed. I did not expect such an open and strange emotion, but he did. It was a laugh of a man who knew he had nothing to fear. Death might hit him at any moment and yet Lyle Ramtk would not dread Fate’s choice. We both looked at each other then. It was an examination. I found his eyes beheld a terrible secret. His expression spoke of strength, but also sadness. There was a vulnerability in this man’s past. All I had to do was find it.

I was certain too, that he was searching my heart. This man was a Ranger, which meant he had likely experienced confinement before. We had heard rumours long ago that you could only be a Ranger if you had withstood the cruelties of torture. We Knight’s are taught

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differently, if the pain is too much we bite off our own tongue. That is why I write to you now sister, for I will never hear my own voice again.

After several dim minutes, waiting as the torches flickered and the guard change took place, I noticed Lyle’s countenance slowly alter. He had closed his eyes as if knowing I would not disturb his meditation. The two of us sat, for strangely we were as one. For that brief moment I was Richard de Goúth again, and this man was my friend. An enemy of my enemy.

Silence was like that of a thousand dreams, each different, each instantly forgotten. We descended into a tranquil bliss. At this point I knew I had not come to hurt him, but to find solace. Where better place to come than the dark lairs of the dungeon keep?

I heard a bat rustle close by. The noise wrestled me from my delirium. As I looked at my prisoner I saw that his eyes were now open, staring at me patently, a laconic figure with a blackened soul. Though not so dark as my own.

I let out a whisper of breath before speaking slowly, my eyes fixed to his. I understood him then, better than any other time. I could have even forgiven him. ‘You mean to escape don’t you?’

I thought I saw a tear before he replied, ‘yes,’ in a morose echo. I sniffed and then nodded before standing. I had learnt more from Lyle on that day than any number of weapons or fire could tell. It was in that moment I believe he had made up his own mind. And for that I hit him, for I was sure he had glimpsed a sample of my own.

Seamus Croft told me about his brother the following day. In our time together he had only spoken of him briefly, such as his death at the hands of Lyle Ramtk. I have often wondered if

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Seamus mourns still for what his brother did for him. A brother dies so one might yet live. A heroic and tragic sacrifice.

We were together in Onis once more, the Count allowing me to leave the castle for the first time since the High Games, one week ago. I had not realised it at first, but I had been as much a suspect as Lyle, living in his hollow. On our arrival we sought to call on Lord Rheese only to find he was doing business with the Count. We were greeted by his young wife Annabel, and Lewis, Stapleton Rheese’s youngest son. Adulthood had just found the youth and he doted on his step-mother like a lamb in stormy winter. Later I asked what had come of the first Mistress of Onis and Seamus looked down, saddened. ‘Shot by a bandit. Can’t say we ever found the killer.’ I had nodded mournfully.

Annabel showed us into the boardroom after Ezekiel had offered us a chilled glass of brandy with ice – a fine accessory stored in the cool room under the ground floor. ‘We were not expecting you Sea-Lieutenant Croft, Mr Hilmai,’ Annabel garbled, ironing her gown whilst fluttering to a maid. Seamus apologised. ‘I am sorry my lady we should have sent a note, but we arrived just this very hour and were in need of the finest refreshments.’

Annabel smiled. ‘Then you have come to the right place. I shall have Ezekiel bring more ice and get cook to make a little brunch for us. How does that sound?’

‘Quite brilliant,’ I answered. Annabel’s eyes seemed to beam, taking Croft’s overcoat herself. ‘Let me mother,’ Lewis interposed, grabbing the brown garb and handing it to a footman. ‘Father has left a note.’

I looked to Seamus. ‘He knew we were to arrive before we did,’ I said, making my friend grin. ‘Hand it over then boy,’ I added, taking hold of an opulently decorated envelope sealed

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by Lord Rheese himself. On opening it and reading it I found the content to be both surprising and confusing. Seamus recognised my perplexity and I routinely handed him the note, shaking my head. ‘What ever is the matter?’ Annabel asked, watching as Seamus’s face flickered with bewilderment. My good friend shook his head. ‘Did you read this note boy?’ he asked Lewis in a resolved tone, making the young man plead his innocence fearfully. Annabel stared at Croft, her eyes searching for answers she would not receive. She clearly understood my friend’s mood well for she dismissed an attendant and then turned to the door with Lewis. ‘We shall give you some privacy,’ she said simply, leaving us alone.

The boardroom had all the ornate features I had come to expect and know given Lord Rheese’s tastes, and yet it was also furnished and thus dominated with the simple design of solid oak panelling. The circular complexity portrayed a very comforting aura around the room as we sat down on two cushioned benches with high backs.

Croft still had the note in his hand and was reading it again. ‘The Governor of Onis displays a remarkable feat of knowledge,’ he said eventually. I snatched the message from him and shook my head dismissively. ‘I am sure he has an explanation. If his fears are true then we should be careful who we trust.’

‘I shall inform the Count this once,’ Seamus resolved, making to stand. I placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘There is no need,’ I answered, ‘for I am sure that is why Lord Rheese has business with Count Loff this very hour.’

The lieutenant nodded begrudgingly, taking another sip from his brandy as he sat and crossed his legs. We heard shouting from the hallway and more commotion and the door opened with Ezekiel walking through holding a tray of more ice and a bottle of brandy. He

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placed the tray down on the table without a word before leaving. I prodded at the ice fascinated, for I had never known it possible to freeze water during the hot months. ‘Annabel is a pretty little thing,’ I grunted after a lengthy pause.

‘Yes,’ Croft sighed, blushing. I smiled knowingly. ‘Fit for a nobleman, not a steward’s son.’

His eyes were full of sorrow. ‘She would have taken me I believe, but I could not. She and Lady Amelia were once close.’

‘Once?’ I asked intrigued. He gave a guttural grunt, the memories clearly still painful.

‘Alas,’ he said dryly, ‘my brother. Annabel was the Count’s ward for many years. She and Amelia grew up together. For the reward of loyalty Lord Rheese was given to her, two years a widower. They have had no children of their own in their brief matrimony. A wedlock consummated last year at the High Games.’

‘And they both had eyes for your brother?’ I asked lightly. Seamus stared in to his brandy glass. ‘My brother was always faithful to Amelia. They were going to marry, so my brother said. Annabel and I were the only two aware of the union. We covered for them many a time.

When we were young we found ourselves playing, the four of us. Henry had always insisted we four would marry, and stay friends forever.’ Seamus gave an ironic laugh. ‘Now when I meet with Annabel we must pretend nothing happened. For nothing did of course. But for my brother and Amelia, she still mourns. No,’ Seamus replied eventually, ‘Annabel did not have eyes for my brother Henry, but she was made to lie for him,’ he explained bitterly.

I looked away, unable to meet his eyes or say any amount of words which might have healed his heart. Perhaps, I thought then, that was why Seamus did not begrudge Lyle for

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killing Henry. Such a foolish notion now, for a brother remains a brother, even after death and despite his life. I had not been ready for him to open his heart to me so passionately. The thought that our bond was tightening put me into a poignant disposition. This was my friend, he had told me some of his most intimate thoughts, and yet I fed him lies. He knew nothing about me then. And I wished he could. I wished then that this could be my real life.

Annabel entered the boardroom an hour later alone. She possessed a tray of cakes and smiled as we looked up, the bottle of brandy half empty. ‘You two look like night has come already.’

Seamus smiled. ‘You bring us the cakes we so wished to devour!’

‘I wish I could claim to be the creator,’ Annabel replied happily, ‘do you wish me to go?’ she added after a brief pause. I shook my head. ‘No sit, this is your home. We are but strangers.’

‘Come, visitors Mr. Hilmai,’ Annabel retorted sitting down, leaving the cakes for her guests. ‘I hope you’re not too disturbed by my husband’s news?’ she asked seriously. I looked at her hesitantly, leaving Seamus to answer. ‘Not as distressing as we first thought. Though if you have had any trouble regarding your house staff then I would be obliged to know. The war has created more enemies than we had feared.’

‘If you are referring to spies Seamus,’ she said quite forgetting herself, ‘then my husband has already confided in me, and Ezekiel is questioning each member most forthrightly.’

‘And you trust Ezekiel?’ I asked, leaning back and tasting a rather delicious blueberry cake. Seamus spoke as soon as I had solicited the notion, glancing at Annabel for approval.

‘Ezekiel and Lord Rheese have known each other since the last Legosian War. They fought

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together, when Ezekiel was a slave. Afterwards Rheese freed him in a debt of gratitude, but Ezekiel would not leave his new master’s side, such is tradition.’

‘My husband has complete faith in him Mr. Hilmai,’ Annabel added, ‘and if he trusts him then so should you.’

‘I am sorry to presume,’ I remarked, watching the two friends share a private look. I have often wondered which of our loves bore the most pain. Mine to Amelia, a love unreturned, a love that will last until I die, or Seamus’s love to Annabel, returned and yet impossible to share? I had not realised Seamus’s heart until that day. He and Lord Rheese have been good friends, and so my loyalties were torn for a while; but now I am loyal to no one.

I struggle to write with my crippled hand. They let me sit up and one nurse assists me out of pity, but it is hard to rest and write without the use of four fingers. I am only thankful they do not belong to my writing hand, for then you would never know my story. I can still remember the day they were taken, a day that lies many months away in this tale. It is a doomed memory for I lost more than just fingers that fateful day.

The sight of Seamus and Annabel talking to each other, oblivious of my presence, made me think of Amelia. The last time we had talked we had argued during the High Games. How she could be a stubborn old toad when she wished! Her actions were inappropriate, and ones that wrought serious repercussions.

Annabel asked me a question which I quite misheard, making her repeat it a second time.

I apologised and tried to hide an expressive sigh. ‘The Armintian air is to my liking thank you, though with the Count wishing me to find the Ramtk band, I do not see as much of Armintia as I would like.’ Truth be told I had not wanted to stay in Fiojn for so long, for it was to the

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Emperor’s household I had been assigned. However, I cannot change fate and so I resolved to do honour to my country in Loff’s pay. I wondered at this time whether the Earl of Porta was worried, for it had been many months and I had given Legosia nothing to help destroy her hated enemy. There were many dark days when I wondered whether they sent the wrong Knight into Armintia, for surely a more experienced soldier would have been a safer and wiser ploy.

‘The High Games have made everybody nervous,’ Annabel stated. I nodded. ‘We might think we are many miles from the war, but the war will come to us. And for that nobody is safe. Though I do not think you should start to worry just yet.’

‘Curious,’ Annabel replied, ‘I thought the culprits were patriots from the Ramtk gang.’

I had not wanted to tell the truth and was surprised at the extent of Lady Annabel’s knowledge. ‘Alas if I were to tell you that were true then the whole town, indeed the whole district should worry.’

‘I commend your reasoning Mr. Hilmai but do not protect me just because I am a woman.

For most of my life I have lived in a household that has always known fear, for lives are precious things, and important people often suffer risk.’

‘I do apologise, I am used to the slender Legosian woman; all nerves and worry!’

Annabel laughed dutifully. ‘Seamus will tell you that Armintian women are nothing of the sort,’ she replied lightly, this time using Seamus’s name quite openly. Rebuked, I glanced at Seamus who grinned happily. He looked at Annabel then with a stare that had eyes for only her, eyes that spoke of love, of loyalty. Eyes that cherished and thought of none other. It was but a fleeting glance, but one that made me sad. So this is love.

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It was noon when I decided the two of us should leave, for if it was up to my friend, we would have stayed all day and into the night. But she was married, and I wanted to avoid a scandal. That and the fact we were busy men on the hunt.

In our time I had asked after Campbell, Lord Rheese’s second youngest. Annabel had answered tearfully that Campbell had joined the Count’s Regiment and had gone to war. Later I learned that he had forfeited officer training and had joined as a private. I do not know if he ever returned.

‘Again I must thank you for your understanding and hospitality,’ I said on leaving.

Annabel nodded, handing us our greatcoats. ‘You will not need these, it is a fine day.’

‘We are riding out this afternoon. We don’t know if we’ll be back by nightfall,’ Seamus answered veraciously and without thought. I grabbed his arm lightly and made for the door. It was opened before we reached it, Ezekiel answering a fierce wrap on the oaken wood. It was Serjeant Aaron, one of Seamus’s men. His face was red and he looked like a man bearing bad tidings. ‘What is it?’ I asked sternly, watching Ezekiel wisely close the door. Aaron hesitated and looked to his commander. Seamus waved a hand. ‘You can say whatever you need to say here, unless you have been sworn to secrecy?’

‘No sir, I have not,’ Aaron panted.

‘Then spit it out man!’

Aaron coughed and sputtered before standing straight. ‘A message from the Count sir.

Lyle has gone!’

‘What do you mean gone?’ Seamus barked impatiently.

‘Escaped sir, this very morning!’

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I looked at my friend and saw the pain in his eyes. So it has happened, I thought to myself, as we left for the barracks. Lyle had done what he had promised. He had escaped. Fate had willed it. I vowed then that one day I would capture him for good. But until that day, he remains the hunted.

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CHAPTER NINE

Richard’s Letter...

When we reached the barracks there was but one place we headed to then. The stables were readied with six of the most agile mounts. Croft and I took the finest pair, a couple of sturdy mares, leaving Serjeant Aaron and three others to follow our trail. We made our way east, across the plains and two days ride towards the Hindrin; a stretch of high rocky hillocks that were famous for a labyrinth of cave systems that even the shepherds feared. The lower of the hills formed part of the Delion Woods to the north, while over the hills and across a great lake stood the outer glades of a greater forest.

We made camp at dusk beside a bedding of rocks, which protected our party against the wind kicking up the dust in the night. Nobody had questioned where we were going, for the previous night one of Croft’s informants had told us that a band of men had been seen dwelling in the Hindrin. The scout could say no more but it gave us a hope we had been searching for since I had come to Armintia. If it was the Ramtk gang then Lyle might have left tracks in his moment of flight. It did not surprise me that the only tracks we found were close to a week old and barely visible. I crouched down and looked at them again before dusk and grunted. ‘Two pairs.’

‘The poet and Talkville?’ Croft asked. I shrugged. ‘Could be, you wish to follow?’ I replied, knowing my friend would rather find Lyle. But our pursuit had led us to this spot, and regardless of our feelings, there would be others looking for the escaped prisoner. This was a

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chance to pursue and capture possible members of the Ramtk gang. Seamus knew it and for that reason we rode on. Furthermore, we still hoped that this hunt would lead us to Lyle.

We found no more evidence of tracks that day and after a long ride we finally decided to make camp for a second night. Serjeant Aaron lit a fire and I waited patiently as a private began to skin and cook a brace of hares shot earlier in the day. A corporal was watering the horses, supplying them with fresh water from the barracks and oat feed. The nearest stream or well would not be found until we reached the Hindrin. We had taken as much water as we could in our haste, but all knew there would be none left by noon tomorrow. Besides, the mounts needed the water more than their masters.

With the glow of the fire I remembered Lord Rheese’s note and pulled it out of my pocket to read it again. I shall tell you what he wrote for I memorised the words the first time I had read it. For a long time they made little or no sense.

My dear Jacob What happened at the High Games was unfortunate. I believe there are spies everywhere, even in my own dear home. In the following weeks a man will meet your acquaintance. He is called Eamor. The Count will warm to him. Do not trust him.

Your friend Stapleton

The events of the High Games are something I should recite to you my dear sister, before I continue my tale of the hunt. When the explosion happened I was as shocked as any, for there had been no indication, nor any warning of an attack. Soon after, as a platoon of soldiers put the fire out, I found myself aimlessly wandering towards the wreckage.

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Captain Charles L’breé was commanding two more platoons and I could see he was trying to evacuate the blaring crowd. A scream erupted like a harsh mountain of rock when the fire came. Smoke drifted upwards and I found myself wiping ash from my face and clothes that night. L’breé pointed to a corporal who stood next to a patch of ground that had been sectioned off. ‘Poor bugger never had a chance,’ he said, turning to bark more commands at his men. I walked on and found Seamus close by, crouched down, inspecting the blackened grass.

He looked up through a pair of spectacles. ‘You know who it is don’t you?’

I shook my head, I had not seen the explosion erupt, only heard it before witnessing the fire and the smoke. I scratched my rough beard in frustration. ‘I’m rather more interested in the ‘do you know who did it’ school of thought myself,’ I replied, ‘and I have a damned good idea who orchestrated this show.’ Seamus sniffed. ‘Can’t say there’s much left of the deceased.

There’s no way of identifying the man but we know whose pavilion it was and there are witnesses testifying the man walked into it just as it exploded.’

I kneeled down next to him and noticed what he was prodding; cooked flesh. ‘Can’t smell any gases in the air,’ I said, stroking the burnt flesh with my finger and tasting it. ‘The explosives are clean. Probably a tripwire I would think. Fits the consistency and size of the explosion. Expensive job. You might want to start by interviewing everyone in his guard, from steward to manservant.’

Seamus was looking at me. ‘I shan’t ask how you know all that,’ he said looking up to see L’breé approach. Seamus sniffed. ‘Here comes trouble,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘What have you found lieutenant?’ he asked brazenly. I looked at L’breé and saw an old man who had greying hair and a poxed face. His eyes were unique in the sense that his left was

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blue and his right brown. There was a feral look in his stare which would have scared a wild cat. I did not like L’breé as my enemy. His rank as captain in the Count’s Personal Guard was even more interesting than his face, for he had held the rank for fifteen years, despite the rumours that he had the ear of the Emperor himself. Croft saluted obediently. I glanced away towards the blackened site. ‘We think tripwire sir, if I could suggest you find everybody that was associated with the victim’s whereabouts this day and for every other day?’

L’breé nodded, he didn’t need telling why. ‘If it was tripwire then he would have to be familiar with the pavilion guard.’

‘Sir!’ a serjeant shouted, running towards us from the main stand, the stand that had witnessed the explosion. L’breé turned on him. ‘What is it?’ he snapped. The serjeant saluted.

‘We have a pageboy from Quor who swears he saw a man who is known for writing literature banned by the empire.’

‘Talkville?’ I mused, looking to Croft. I had studied each and every member of the Ramtk gang for many long nights and was aware who this man could be. Croft nodded. ‘It’s a lead.’

L’breé spat. ‘Very well then, I’ll question the guard, you find the pageboy.’

I have elucidated to you previously of who we thought the killers were. At this point we were now certain they were Talkville and Rufus, more so because of a man found dead in a nearby stream. His neck sliced could have only been the work of Rufus. His background was hard to come by, but we knew he was once army. And the fatal wound was an army regulation kill. From behind, knife to the larynx, up and then across, twist out…

L’breé’s quest for an associate has been hitherto unsuccessful…

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Then of course there was the victim. Nobody shall miss him. Nobody did. It brought me a sense of hope for now Amelia was free. For that reason alone I was happy to see Lok dead.

However, the words of Lyle, insisting that the victim was a traitor, haunted me for several long nights.

The nurse comes now. I did not sleep last night, the guns are louder outside. My gaoler came and has read some of what I have wrote. He whispered something into my ear that I shall not repeat. I am sorry sister for everything. As for the tale, I shall continue our hunt when I have chance to write some more.

*

*

*

Jack’s Memoirs...

The outlaws moved into the Braásk Forests four days after the High Games. To reach our friends and the Great Forests we had to march through part of the Inglis deserts, hoping to lose any pursuers in the Hindrin. It would have taken us twelve more days to reach camp. On top of the highest peak Rufus sighted six horsemen approach the Hindrin, miles away. They would not follow me into the trees, for together with disciplined skill I had help from the elements; water and wind.

It was many more days after that when I learned of Lyle’s escape. Roark had mentioned nothing of the sort. I do not even know if he knew until I did. In fact the Ramtk gang had no involvement in Lyle’s flight from the Count. There have been several theories on who aided him. One hypothesis is that of a colonel, known as George De’brant, who visited Lyle on the

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eve of his escape. Why would a colonel in the Emperor’s Own Regiment visit a man in the Count of Fiojn’s dungeons? That is a question I can answer, for the colonel’s very own son was a member of our gang. Bastard-born though he was, Nelson De’brant was a loyal patriot. The colonel’s visit would have been in vain. And what role did the famous Legosian spy Richard de Goúth play? As for my own theory, I shall not lower myself to speculation until we have come to comprehend all the facts. And in doing so we must understand later events that came to pass.

And so I have here as part of my memoirs, a letter written to Roark, from his brother, dated a week after his escape. It makes sense only now that I know the truth.

My Brother Do not ask me how I sent this, for we both know it is not safe to write secrets.

There is much to do, and a lot indeed to say. Let me write by stating five points.

First, I do not understand what happened at the High Games. Was this the will of the band? For it seems an unwise slaughter in our time of peril. Second, our contact is safe, and is willing to serve our cause until the end. Third, what of our well travelled friend? Can we trust him? Fourth, I cannot tell you everything thus far but there are things I experienced whilst a captive that make me question Armintia’s role in this war. Fifth, I could not snare my diamond.

With love

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He was no longer the patriot, though some say he never was. Given time there would be other letters that made me hate him forever… There were some within the band who had a secret, I was sure. It was the lie which hurt the most…

Extracts from Turncoat...

The Hindrin boasted rocks that tore your skin. We left blood behind on those hills, blood that was washed away by the rain. It was the wind that came first, directed from the south, where the sea frothed and the war blazed. We could hear the boom boom of the artillery carry with the wind. It was a pounding, shrill noise that did not go away.

I looked out onto the deserts, feeling the wind rush against my naked face. The clouds began to rumble. On a clear day we would have seen the sea, seen the slaughter on the beaches. But today we heard it. At first I thought it was my heart pumping like an anvil against rock, scratching, crashing, thumping.

Rufus smiled and walked up behind me. ‘The artillery sings,’ he said attentively. I shook and stared to the west, to those that pursued us. ‘What do we do?’

‘Nothing.’ It was the first time Rufus had spoken out of verse, and for that I felt nervous.

He looked at me sideways. ‘For you there is nothing, flee to the forests friend and do not falter or fail. I shall stay, and make sure these men do not find your trail.’ He smiled. ‘Go, run! Hither towards the trees!’

‘I cannot leave you,’ I protested looking towards the six men, but little insignificant dots in the distance. ‘They are still miles away; there is no need for you to stay.’

‘Need? Need has nothing to do with it. I do what I see fit.’

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‘You do what you see fit? You see fit to sacrifice yourself for nothing?’ I barked, angry now for I knew he would not change his mind. Poets can be quite stubborn creatures when they want to be, Rufus more so than any other. ‘Sacrifices are never for nothing friend,’ he replied, placing a hand on my shoulder. I was not sure what he meant then, but I lowered my head and then grasped his hand. ‘You are a silly old fool,’ I growled with a smile.

‘Better to know a fool than to be one,’ Rufus replied with a grin. He looked up. ‘With the wind comes the rain, cloud will cover you, wind will help you and rain befriend you. Now do not linger for minutes are precious and few.’

I winced at that. Sometimes his rhyming was as bad as his judgement. With a final shrug I turned and fled, not looking back, wondering what would become of the insane poet that had become my friend.

It was over a month later when I found out.

The wind picked up as I fled down the northern side of the Hindrin. The low cloud soon settled on us, which meant the six riders were no longer visible to my esteemed friend. It is said that when I left Rufus he made for a cave, taking out his pad and pen, two items he never let out of his sight. He then leant down against a rock and wrote a poem that would have broken the most hardened heart, made even a Legosian Knight weep. It was said to have been a poem about friendship, about love. On finishing it Rufus smiled. He read what he had written, committing it to memory, before burning the pages with a match under a sheltered cove. And then the rain came. He sat watching the pitter patter of the heavens crash before him, sheltered by the cave. There are rumours that he sang, sang the Milvian songs of Death, verses that echoed towards his pursuers. I do not know if that is true but I do know Rufus

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heard the men coming, scrambling up the Hindrin, leaving one man behind with the horses so that his foe numbered five. I know that for he saw them first.

Taking his knife he carved his name into the stone of the cave, a cave now made famous after his death.

The five men split, a lieutenant and the Legosian ordering a serjeant and two others to look further to the north. He watched them turn and waited, catlike before making his move.

He did so carefully, skilfully amidst the crashing wind and rain, careful lest not to slip on rock and fall to his death.

He heard Lieutenant Croft and Mr. Hilmai speaking. The latter seemed to sniff the air and crouch down to the floor. ‘They split up,’ he said pointing down toward the north, ‘one might still be here, but I can tell nothing now the rain comes,’ he said looking up. I believe he sensed Rufus then for he aimed his rifle towards a rock and took a step forward. ‘I know you’re watching us,’ he said loudly, a shout that was lost in the din of the stormy cloud.

Rufus stepped out willingly, smiling. ‘Aim not at me for I am he.’

‘You are the killer?’ Croft asked, his face failing to hide his surprise. Rufus smiled. ‘I am he who killed one man.’

‘Where is your friend?’ Hilmai asked, his rifle still primed at Rufus. The poet shrugged.

‘He is gone. I am here. Bind me if you wish. Kill me. I do not fear.’

The two hunters peered at him with an unfriendly guise.

Of course Rufus did not die that day, but I did not know then whether he had been taken or wounded. As I ran I did hear, amid the distant racket and din of a storm that grew, a single shot, loud, distinct, and for the sake of my friend, I hoped a shot not true.

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I ran.

Scrambling down the hillside of the Hindrin, drenched from head to toe, I could only think of my poor friend’s plight, muttering to myself over and over again: ‘Damn! Damn!

Damn!’ down the drench-ridden, rock-filled hillock. I cut myself more than once, slipping and sliding, regaining my footing as I eventually followed a shepherd’s path north into the Delion Woods. Not stopping and fearing to look back, I felt a shiver as the rain pelted down, the trees doing little to cover me from the shrieking wind. I could scarcely see six feet in front of me and was heading west now for the Great Lake of Ioina. Soon I would have to find a place to camp for the night. There would be little cover from the wind and rain but I knew of a shelter, a small shepherd’s hut but two miles yonder. There would be food there I was sure for Roark looked after his men like he did a brother.

And when the weather cleared I would have to make a small craft in order to reach the Braásk Forest at the far bank still many miles away.

It took me two days to reach the lake, the food from the hut sustaining me through the constant drizzle that followed the storm. On reaching the lake, scouting the rim for a mile, I was surprised to see a small craft submerged by weights. A fisherman had obviously sunk the boat in light of the rainy season. I waited for another two days before the weather cleared and I made my crossing. It took me a whole day to reach the far bank, and on sinking the craft I fell down exhausted. In the night I crawled to the edge of the forests and slept until the sun crept high into the sky.

The forest was a dark ancient dwelling that was rumoured to hold the souls of the dead. I spent eight days following a route made by Roark years before. It was an experience I do not

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wish to share for on the tenth day I had eaten my fill and was not skilled enough to hunt my own game. If it was not for the time I had spent with the Ramtk brothers I would never have been able to survive. I heard noises in the night, howling wolves that seemed to watch me, but never showed their fearsome fangs or glowing eyes. When the wood dried I made fires and slept close. Those cries of death were not heard again. The wolves must have fled to find easier prey.

On the twelfth day since fleeing the Hindrin I reached a clearing and was challenged by a sentry who looked at me and grinned. It was Eli. He swore at me in delight. I nodded and spoke my name, staggering to a tree, before falling into a soporific dream…

The first face I saw was that of Roark peering down on me. He put his hand to my shoulder and his expression was that of gratitude. ‘For an activist and a writer I have underestimated your resolve Jack.’

‘You told me to follow the trail,’ I replied humbly. Roark smiled and looked around. I’m sure he was aware that Rufus had not followed. The sober silence spoke more than words. He seemed to understand. ‘Morcam here will tend to you,’ he grunted, shifting as Dr. Alexander Morcam, the botanist-turned-doctor opened the tent flap and grinned. It was early in the day and he had yet to find a bottle. ‘Fair old journey I see, soup first! Nothing else! Give you any solids and you’ll be sick, probably die, so soup first you hear me?’ Morcam garbled flippantly, stirring a bowl of boiling water. He put some herbs in it and grinned. He saw my unease.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, taking an odd looking root from his pocket. Roark frowned. ‘What’s that?’

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‘A Cepa plant,’ Morcam replied as if everybody should know. He brushed away the soil and shook his head, ‘onion,’ he added in explanation. ‘Helps with fatigue, a good tonic, so is rum mind,’ he said seriously, eying the pair of us suspiciously as if he’d emitted a secret, ‘but we’ll try onion first eh?’ he admonished with a grin.

‘Wouldn’t it be better if you chopped it up?’ I asked hesitantly. Morcam frowned.

‘Whatever for? I’m going to boil it, need the juice not the shrub.’

‘Wouldn’t it boil quicker chopped?’ I prompted. The good doctor paused and shrugged.

‘Never thought of that,’ he grunted, pealing and sticking the onion into the bowl. He placed it on a stand on top of a brazier. My tent was smoky and hot. Morcam insisted the heat would stop the fever. I was not so sure. ‘What were the herbs for?’ Roark asked. Morcam waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh flavouring, bit of rosemary. I found a bush up the track. Adds to the taste – once put some in with garlic treating a man with diphtheria, remember Tiniam, Roark?’ The man nodded. ‘Bad case it was too, had to quarantine the bugger. Still didn’t help, three others caught it. In the end garlic saved the day. Though one of the patients did have a curious rash on his face for life, tried lavender and all sorts. You know Wilfred don’t you?’ he asked me, referring to the man with the rash. I nodded. The doctor smiled. ‘Yes ugly chap now, not even the city whores touch him poor fellow. Damned shame, had a nice face once. Hmm,’ he added looking at my complexion, ‘you’re getting a fever,’ he declared, ‘well there’s nothing for it, we’ll have to smoke the demons out of you. Roark fetch some more wood if you can find any,’ he grunted, grinning at his little yarn. I frowned and grabbed Morcam’s arm. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked staring at Roark who stood on the threshold. Dr. Alexander Morcam nodded. ‘Of course I am, you’re burning up man, look at you!’

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‘I’m burning up because you’ve got a bloody furnace in my tent!’ I growled. Morcam didn’t seem to hear. ‘Now fevers,’ he mused trying to think, scratching his backside and peering over his spectacles. ‘Ah yes!’ he barked finally, ‘if you start feeling thirsty you must let me know and I’ll give you some snake gourd.’

‘What about water?’

‘What about it?’ Morcam asked, searching his sack, ‘and some honey. Honey and chiratta will soon increase the efficacy. And of course no soup now,’ he said, his head half stooped in his sack, his voice muffled. I looked at Roark for help, my stomach groaned. ‘Why can’t I have soup?’

‘Well because a good doctor once told me, starve a fever, feed a cold. You have a fever, or will have at any rate,’ he added, briefly popping his head up to explain.

‘Yes, but Alexander,’ Roark said, his voice gruff and yet somewhat level, ‘surely your doctor friend would give other advice if the patient was starving too?’

Morcam paused and looked up. ‘Damned good poser that Roark, never thought of that,’ the doctor beamed. ‘I tell you what I’ll make some snake gourd, chiratta and honey soup! That way we cover everything eh?’ The doctor paused. ‘But of course you men do not see the paradox here do you?’ We clearly did not. Morcam shook his head. ‘How silly of me, if I was prescribing you for a bilious fever, then it would not matter if you ate, drank or farted, soup would not help. No, no,’ he grunted, ‘I have got it all wrong.’

‘How reassuring,’ I replied drably. The doctor did not catch my sarcasm. ‘Yes quite.’ He pulled a green herb from his bag and threw it into the bowl of boiling water. ‘Coriander might

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help,’ he added. After that he stared at my tongue and rubbed his chin. ‘Perhaps it is bilious after all, do you ache man?’

‘Of course I ache, I’ve been walking, nearly running, half starving these past two weeks!’

‘And your head, does that ache?’ he asked, ignoring my heated response. I paused and nodded. ‘And I bet your mouth tastes quite bitter at the moment?’

‘Dry, bitter call it what you will, I need a piss!’ I exclaimed, uttering profanities in my moment of anger.

‘Excellent!’ Morcam beamed. He searched his bag and revealed a small glass cylinder.

‘Here use this.’

I paused and the doctor frowned. ‘What too small?’ he asked in all seriousness. Hesitating he passed it to me and grinned. ‘Didn’t think so, always had you down as a –’ ‘Alexander are you sure everything is alright?’ Roark interrupted, returning with some wood. I had not even noticed him leave. ‘Oh yes, quite all right,’ Morcam replied, ‘you see he’s had a fever these past two days, an intermitted one, nothing too serious,’ he explained, taking Roark’s elbow and leading him out of the tent, ‘come, let the man have some privacy. As I was saying, intermitted fever, but his adrenalin kept the bugger at bay. Now we have a remittent fever, bilious, lots of vomiting and groaning, very noisy, very bad.’

I heard the pause before Roark answered. ‘Are you sure man? A few minutes ago he didn’t look feverish.’

‘Quite sure, quite sure, the urine will prove it! Seems I wasn’t wrong after all! Should always trust your instincts Roark, but then you’ll know that being a military man.’ He turned back into the tent, followed by Roark. ‘Keep the temperature up first for the initial chill, then

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we’ll freeze him when he starts sweating like a hog in a pot! Ah thank you, the urine,’ Morcam said, as I handed him my sample. The doctor stared at it, shook it, then dipped his finger in and tasted it. He turned to Roark. ‘Does that look high-coloured? Definitely scanty that’s for sure.’

Roark shrugged and the doctor turned to me unresolved. I shivered despite the heat. He seemed to notice it. ‘There! It’s started by gum! You have a terrible bilious fever old chap, the urine proves it and your chill confirms it beyond any doubt. Cold now are we eh?’ he asked, far too delighted given my diagnosis. ‘Might even try grinding up some devil’s tree, worked for old Harry last time!’ He looked at the boiling onion and picked it up, giving it to Roark. ‘Here have this, you look as though you need a fillip to wake you up,’ he said hovering at the entrance, ‘don’t worry Jack, Alexander will have you ready for action in no time. Let me find my particulars.’

And then he was gone. I looked at Roark for comfort; the man had none. Instead he shrugged. ‘Mad quite mad, but usually right. You’re an unlucky bugger if you ask me. But then I did tell him to do it.’

I looked up and frowned. ‘Pardon?’

Roark, with one hand, tasted the onion broth and spat it out in revulsion, before lowering the wood pickings with the other, into the brazier. ‘Rufus,’ he said standing to rise, ‘I told the man to give himself up, it is a shame you had to be the one with him at the time.’

I frowned, trying to digest the news only to find my head ache with the attempt. ‘Why?’ I could only ask in return. Roark did not look into my eyes. ‘We all have our secrets,’ he said brazenly.

I did not reply. For that I already knew.

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CHAPTER TEN

Amelia’s Diary... …I do not declare for such irregularities myself. If I wanted to be diverted I would sooner read a book, or ride Snowbell. Playing a game of hide and seek is for children. That is what grown adults wished for in want of repast and fun today! I did not oblige. I stayed true to my sentiments and will. Resolving instead to play a game of cards. I did not play for the money and grew irritated at my party, for associates they were but today my friends were in a flirtatious mood. A mood I did not wish to become.

Loquaciously they garbled frivolously, drinking wine. For dinner we picnicked, braving the sun only to find clouds muster and loom overhead. I heard too, a definite unwholesome noise travel with the wind. On returning amid heavy rain I asked the Captain of the Guard what the noise might have been, he replied. ‘The war milady, that’s the war you hear.’ The news quite startled me, for I had not thought we would be so close to hostilities. If only I had studied my geography with more vigour and care I would have known that my father’s lands stretch to much of the south of Armintia. South still some many hundred miles lies Legosia.

The news unsettles me for the very beaches I played on as a girl are now grounds of slaughter and butchery…

Today is a new day and the rain still falls, though not as energetically as last night. I’m writing this, the afternoon beckoning, for want of something productive to do. Father seems tired and dare I say it a little harassed. He is the last to bed and always the first to rise. The Governor of Onis, Stapleton Rheese has been with us these past four days. Likely he is helping

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father with business, I shouldn’t be surprised if the good man is organising the search for Lyle as I write!

Father told me the other day that I should be wary of prying eyes, he counsels me to hold my diary close…

This evening I had an unexpected guest, but then given Lord Rheese’s recent vocation at the behest of my father, I should not have been surprised when Annabel called on us, carriage and footmen in tow, to dote on her husband. With the two men engaged on business I greeted her cordially as we retired to the drawing room.

There we sat as tea was sent for and examined each other. She smiled at me and complimented the extent of my dress. Manners prescribed I did the same, though I would have commented on her gown either way, for it was a most delightful piece of evening wear; delicate silk trimmings, light and blue, clinging to her figure most appreciatively, demonstrating just the right amount of curve and betraying the respectable quantity of cleavage that these days high fashion permits. She had fine contractors. ‘Oh I had it made in Falore, before the riots of course,’ she replied in answer to my question. I looked at her and smiled. Her long auburn hair had a natural curl and I had always thought her face prettier than mine. She smiled at me, one that could put a spell on any man. ‘You are well then?’ she asked after a long pause. I wondered if she had caught me staring. ‘Better now I have some lady company,’ I replied, ‘days can be most tiresome spent around men all the time.’

Annabel laughed. ‘Yes I hold a company full of men, and all they do is make a mess and burden the house with their wearisome odour.’

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‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘ours is a thankless lot. You have left Lewis at your home in Onis?’ I asked seeking for conversation. Annabel nodded. ‘I hope Lewis being man of the house will teach him some adroitness and comportment. I often wonder whether his late mother dropped him on his head, he is so unremitting in his attitude to society and fails to conform to the practices of a gentleman.’

‘Like two boys we used to know,’ I barbed, making Annabel blush. A maid came and tea was served. Once she left, Annabel spoke, lifting her teacup to the rim of her lips. ‘Seamus called on me five days past. The Legosian Mr. Hilmai was with him, they were both quite gentlemanly in their manner, though they left quickly at the command of some ill news.’

I nodded. ‘Father received a messenger, it seems they have gone in search of our elusive villain.’

‘Yes, Seamus said something along those lines, though his words were vague. You think they will recapture the Ramtk brother?’

I shrugged. ‘If anybody can do it, it is Seamus. Tell me, you thought Mr. Hilmai pleasant?’

I asked surprised.

‘Quite so,’ Annie replied, ‘he was very gentle, and stayed his tongue even when I suspect he noticed the bond I share with Seamus. In the end it was he who bid farewell, lest his friend might cause a scandal.’

‘You would have let him?’ I enquired intrigued, feeling content, for we two have not talked in confidence since the death of Henry. She smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I do not know. I do not think so, not in my own home. The union is forbidden and I am married. Stapleton is a good man,’ she added, trying to reassure and convince herself

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that temptation would not have won her heart. I poured some more tea and then with a tear in my eye, I placed my hand upon my friend’s. ‘I am sorry Annie for being such a brute. I should never have made you lie for me, for us, nor Seamus. It was a cruel favour to bestow; I did not once contemplate your feelings.’

‘You were in love, your feelings belonged to another,’ Annie replied. I cried then and I still do for I had been a terrible friend. She had known what I had done. In a moment of anger I had exposed Annie’s relationship with Seamus to father. A relationship that had barely broken the conformities of friendship. I had known she felt for Seamus, but unlike me, she had not acted on them. Oh yes there were the flirtations, but we four were so merry friends.

And the next day Henry and Seamus rode out to battle. Seamus returned, Henry, my dear Henry did not.

We embraced each other and kissed, crying in each others arms. By the time we had finished in our grieving the tea was quite cold. Annie looked at me, friends anew. ‘My husband tells me this Lyle is a terrible creature.’

My initial reaction was to retort her, defend Lyle; such a queer fantasy. I held my tongue, and drank the tea despite its taste. Annie smiled. She saw through my façade. ‘You find him alluring?’

‘He’s a prisoner,’ I said, quite forgetting he had escaped. Shaking my head, I placed my teacup on the ebony table. ‘He killed Henry Annie, I can never forget that. And yet I feel myself betraying Henry’s honour for not hating him. Oh I tell myself I do, but I cannot help feeling a little intrigued. He reminds me of Henry.’

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‘Seamus never berated the man for Henry’s death and neither should you,’ Annie consoled. She rubbed her hand gently against mine, and grinned, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glee. ‘If you want my advice,’ she giggled, ‘forget men, for they are too complicated to fully comprehend, too unpredictable to understand. They are a queer race that play with your heart, even before they know they have it.’

I smiled, tearfully. ‘And break it when they do.’

An hour later father and Lord Rheese joined us and on this night I have felt like I’ve found my friend once more. I think I might have been jealous once, for she is the prettier.

How asinine I can be.

Now Annie sleeps with her husband in one of the guest rooms. I cannot wait to whittle away the hours with her tomorrow, talking. I am glad we are friends again. And she is right of course. I cannot understand men. It is better I rid them from my life forever.

*

*

*

Amelia’s Diary... …I’m now glad I took my father’s advice and kept my diary close…It has been three days since these events came to pass…I shall hope and dream of forgiveness until my rescue permits it.

We are all looking to be saved. For many wandering souls it just takes time to realise they are lost. On this day I hope for salvation, and have been reminded of poor Henry. Of that dashing gentleman who sat high and straight upon his black gelding. On the day of his death he looked

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at me, a knowing gaze. His rich green eyes pierced my very soul. On that distant morning I gave my heart to him. Death in His objectivity gave it back. Broken.

I shall not weep, for I now feel released of Henry. His gaze no longer haunts me. It does not reach me. The very utter of his name no longer makes me cry. I am now deaf to his charmed tongue‌ In the waking of the rising sun a quite interesting predilection occurred. My heart is safe once more. I am unsure whether to test its buttresses again. If only life were easy I would race off with a rich man. Happiness would be scorned for a gentle life overlooking the sea.

Wishing, waiting, dying old – a loved woman who could not emanate such sorrowful sentiments. That of course would be a depressing life. I shall endeavour to strive for a man who is both rich and worthy of my love. Only then can I run. Not that running away is a wise course of action. It perhaps might be more prudent if I stayed to make a stand and waited.

Waited for those silly men to run from me. If I am arrogant and spiteful enough I might well achieve this. A world made vacant of men. An unbecoming thought. And yet perversely pleasing this cold dark night.

In the chill of that morning past I felt contentment. Annie had yet to stir from her slumber and it was not my place to awake a married woman. The courtyard was glistening, a sheen and lustre that made life spring anew. The rain had washed away the dirt and cleaned the dry dust from the cobbles. The apple tree stood and shivered in the wind. It seemed happy.

I smiled and went to sit in my secret place. As a child I thought it my surreptitious home. But now as adulthood beckons I am furtively aware it is secret no longer. And on that morning I was found out.

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The shuffle of feet could be heard from the courtyard. Mutterings of a clandestine nature.

I wrestled to hear the words spoken, but they seemed lost with the wind. I did hear a name though. Eamor. Unfamiliar and foreign to my ears – no doubt a victim in this bloody and terrible war.

Of all the faces that stared at me that morning I did not expect to see Lord Rheese’s. His eyes were grey and his expression inert and flaccid. He stared at me for a guilty second before offering a smile. ‘Musky today,’ he began, bowing, ‘I did not mean to disturb,’ he added, his eyes searching the stoned archway and the bench I was seated upon. There was intrigue perhaps, but nothing else. Then there was a hidden gratification. ‘But seen as though we two are now here I would like to offer my appreciation and thankfulness. Annie was simply glowing when we retired for bed yesterday eve. Quite marvellous that friends once astray have been reunited. You plan to ride out if the sun holds?’

I nodded. My tongue lost. Stapleton Rheese has forever silenced me. He is a strange and quite brilliant gentleman. But one that unnerves me, for nobody can be that spirited and perceptive. His often frolicsome temperament is usually masked by a quite luminous and intelligent zeal. I decided it would be impolite to hold the silence for any longer. ‘We have always had a free spirit my lord, ever since we were children.’

‘I know,’ he replied, ‘I remember you running around with those two whippersnapper brothers as if the world were a peaceful place bereft of all danger. Simply charming,’ he chirped. He reflected on that thought for a hesitant moment before smiling graciously. ‘But now you are women, and in times of war I will not let my wife, nor you for that matter, leave this castle without an escort and a gentleman as a chaperone. Young Officer Harris will

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accompany you. An amiable man of great fortune. You should make an effort to converse with the gentleman. It would make your father happy.’

I forced myself to stand. I did not feel comfortable talking about such sentiments with this man. I made my apologies and muttered a correct riposte that earned a sympathetic smile before departing to my chambers. I will never let a stranger steal my heart. Poor Lieutenant Harris did not have the chance.

The rain, lifted from the morning breeze, did not return, so that when afternoon arrived we did tea in the fields across the glen. A grove of trees fluttered nearby overlooking a small beck that ran down the glen into a still tarn. The field was a lush green, the rain turning it into a vibrant vision of life. The wild blue-flower grew amongst ferns near the trees. Buttercups sang in a slight breeze across the meadow. It was one of our favourite picnicking places, and Annie and I were escorted by the half-platoon of dragoons promised to us by Lord Rheese. A gentle reminder that we are a country at war.

The distant shrill of the guns never ebbed. They pounded, echoing like the ancient drummers marching into battle. It is dark now as I write, dark and cold, scribbling away next to the glowing embers of a small blaze. I am scared. And I do worry for Annie.

Annie passed me a slice of lemon and orange cake, freshly made by cook in the early blaze of the morning sun. ‘It is monstrously inconvenient having all these men around, we can hardly profess our hearts desires if they mean to listen.’

Over the months I had grown used to my personal escort. To me I barely noticed their longing gaze, nor their muffled chatter. ‘They are an inconsequence rather than an

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inconvenience Annie,’ I replied, ‘inconsequential because now they do not matter, convenient because later they might.’

‘I liked it better when we were free,’ she pronounced, drinking her lemonade. ‘At any rate Stapleton told me last night that our army took the road to Falore two days past, thus blocking the Legosian army’s main advance.’

‘Brave men die.’ How can I grow used to war? How can any soul, living or free, comprehend or understand it? Annie looked down and hesitated. Her expression had now changed from a contented smile gleaming with joy to a sombre gaze – as if she was searching her own soul and saw only darkness. She shifted her weight and spoke slowly and quietly. ‘I would say,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I would say I am sorry for your fiancés death but I do not think you grieve.’

I wanted to cry, not for Lok, but how could she be so unsure about my feelings? Before Henry’s death she would have laughed as I did, smiled like me, knowing I was not chained to his fate. My expression spoke not of grief, only relief. ‘My one regret is that I did not rid him from my life sooner.’

Annie looked at me aghast and I realised what I had just said. ‘Don’t be so silly,’ came my response, before breaking into a smile. ‘He deserved death, though not like that, nobody deserves to die like that, but I cannot feel sadness at his passing, otherwise he would have won.

He meant to break me,’ I said looking up, remembering his putrid breath and crude touch, ‘he meant to break my spirit. Oh Annie if only I had been as lucky as you and was betrothed to a gentleman!’

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‘If they exist!’ Annie perked, grinning. I placed my hands on hers. ‘Yes Annie, if he did exist then I would never let him leave his stately manner.’

‘Oh but he would grow ill!’

I mocked seriousness. ‘Well I would let him tend the gardens, attend service every month.’

‘And his friends?’ Annie asked, enjoying the game. I looked to the heavens and laughed.

‘He would give them up if he truly loved me. And at any rate he’d have the newspaper. That is all the society you need.’

‘Your heart is cold,’ Annie said, trying to hide her gravity. I shrugged. ‘It might yet light again,’ I replied. Immediately a face came to mind and I blushed before letting out an exaggerated gasp as if to berate the sultry air.

‘Ladies, do you care for fishing?’ the young lieutenant asked confidently, interrupting our little soirée. I looked up to him and saw a man but one year older than I born from a rich family. It was only later I realised his handsome face, blonde hair. Father would never have let us leave without an officer present. I was reminded of Lord Rheese’s rather patent words and could not help but wonder whether father was presenting a potential suitor. ‘Fishing? Fishing?’

I asked, ‘what would a lady do with fish?’

‘Eat it I would expect,’ the lieutenant replied, all bravado and dash. I hid a smile. ‘Oh how very droll, I suppose you are going to tell me there are fish worth the effort in this very beck!’

‘No, but there’s a good catch in the tarn down the glen.’

‘Do you not have men to command lieutenant?’ Annie asked interrupting, pausing for want of a name. The young man smiled. ‘Harris, and yes milady I do.’

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‘Then off you go and command them!’ she replied quite enjoying herself. The lieutenant shifted unsure, looking to me for an ally. I shrugged. ‘You heard Lady Rheese! Off man!’

‘And lieutenant,’ Annie barbed, not yet finished, ‘a word to the wise.’

‘Yes my lady,’ the poor man replied, his eyes down, defeated.

‘Never interrupt two girls when they chatter so, unless of course it is important, but not,’ and at this she laughed, ‘for want of fishing.’

‘You are cruel,’ I said when Harris had retreated. I saw him ordering a serjeant to check the path leading to the valley. Annie smiled. ‘He would have turned out like Lok,’ she said, ‘too much money, too much power. The trouble with men like that is that they are not humbled.

Humble your man Amelia and you might yet tolerate him for life.’

‘Oh no not for life!’ I retorted gamely, ‘for I would surely grow bored within a year of marriage.’ We laughed, our game complete…

I heard the din of the guns in the south and shivered. ‘There are nurses, even some women fighting,’ I remarked soberly. Annie looked at me shocked. ‘You are not thinking of becoming one of them surely?’

‘No,’ I answered truthfully, ‘but I do not like the feeling I have inside of me.

Helplessness.’

Annie warmed me with her smile. ‘You are such a caring and loving woman Amelia. But do not be so quick to dismiss your own efforts. Even today I saw how your father looked at you. He is proud. And in these dark days, you give him hope.’

‘If only hope were enough,’ I mused looking up to see Lieutenant Harris walk towards us.

He saluted and I saw behind him a man held firm by a corporal. ‘I am sorry to interrupt,’

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Harris said with the professional manner of one chastised, ‘but he says he has a message from Lieutenant Croft, addressed to you my lady.’

‘Me?’ ‘Yes my lady.’

I looked to Annie and then back at Mr. Harris. ‘Why would Seamus send a message here?’

I asked. More to the point, why had he sent a message to me? I saw Annie’s eyes widen at the sound of his name. She seemed as shocked as I. Lieutenant Harris did not look at us directly.

‘Says he’s found the prisoner.’

My heart stopped. Shaking my head, I waved my hand thinking nothing of it. ‘Then bring him here at once.’

Restless geese escaped from the fern and bracken. I do so hate death and the thought of it now makes me wish I could fly, flee like the geese on the wind.

Accepting my command, poor Harris turned and on doing so fell with a gush of blood spitting from his head. For a moment I looked to Annie, blood and skull splattered around us.

Hesitating, we were quite still.

And then we saw men and horse appear from the glen.

We screamed.

The distant guns did not stop.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Richard’s Letter...

My gaoler hobbles about on one foot. He is bitter and has reason to be. Tired too. No doubt Dr. Morcam would have had some strange cure for his ailment. I can only begin to wonder what happened to them all sister. Where is Amelia now? She said she would come to me but she has not!

I did not sleep well again last night. I had an uncomfortable dream which brought back memories of a past I wish to forget. There have been too many hearts broken, souls crushed…

I wonder about the different forms of love. Forbidden love, love unspoken, the absurd unrealities of true love. Love unrequited. Requited love.

Of all these sentiments I have yet to experience the last. I have never known what it must feel like to have someone love you. How fickle our imaginations can be, creating a vortex of perpetual torment, casting perfect dreams into an imperfect reality. My love is torture; the unloved soul is a dark abyss into which nothing can be relit. The only sparks you see are the wreathing flames of the underworld.

I was reminded of my mortality today sister when a priest came to pray for our souls. I told him, writing on my chalk tablet, that mine was blackened, beaten by the burdens of love and loneliness. It no longer wishes to shine in this world. He told me of a different love, a love untainted. Sacrificial love. Gracious love. I coughed and spluttered at that and leaned over to write on my tablet: ‘Such things do not exist.’

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The priest smiled, unperturbed. ‘Have faith friend, not everything is blackened by this world. There are some that believe a light shines and cleanses our soul, however blackened.’

‘Then they are fools,’ I wrote, spitting spitefully. Such tidings are not important in my life, for they mean nothing. The priest may come back tomorrow, or next week. He said he would pray for me. I laughed mockingly. Perhaps I should pray for him…

On the heights of the Hindrin we half dozen searched the whole hillside with Rufus under guard. It did not take us long before we found the remains of an old camp. Even with the wind and rain we could see the dark ashes of long ago fires. Following an old trail we reached Delion Woods. ‘The track is old Seamus,’ I said amid the crashing rain, ‘I cannot find them in this weather. Even with all his men Roark is too good a huntsman to have left a definite trail.’

‘And there are no signs of Lyle?’ Croft asked, wiping his soaked brow. I shook my head and looked back up to Serjeant Aaron keeping Rufus under guard. ‘It would be best if we were to head back,’ I said after a lengthy pause. The wind brushed against my face and the rain was as unforgiving as the darkness that aired all around us. ‘We should not linger for long, for water we have aplenty but with this weather they’ll be no fires and no game to hunt.’

Croft nodded. ‘We’ll find a cave to camp for the night and search again come the morning. If we find nothing then we shall return home.’

‘At least we have Rufus,’ I consoled, momentarily resting a comforting hand on my friend’s shoulder, before walking back up the Hindrin. Seamus Croft waited and stared into the darkness of the woods before following me. He knew, like I, that the capture of the famous poet had been a strange phenomenon on the peak of the hollow hillock.

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We found nothing that next day sister, and the rain did not help. Searching the periphery of the woods there was little sign of any boot to track. It was a few hours after noon when Seamus decided our mission forlorn, and so we descended the Hindrin, following the road into the Inglis deserts, a wilderness that had not seen rain for more than five years. Until now.

The journey back to Onis was uncomfortable for want of food or solace. The rain slowly withered away, casting large clouds that loomed above. We all hoped for the sun and on the last day, the sixth since setting out from Onis, we were rewarded with a glimmering of light that broke from the sky. Hungry, and with Rufus tied to my saddle, walking silently behind us, we felt quite alone in the desolate plains stretching forth beyond the Hindrin. It was a strange feeling to return knowing we had failed in our duty. The capture of the poet had been a surprise, but it had not been our mission. Lyle had escaped us.

On following the road to Onis I glanced back towards Rufus and saw a man who had not shaved for weeks, nor bathed. He wore a brown tunic torn and dirty, matching his equally tousled trousers. His right boot had the makings of a hole and he walked at a pace that favoured his left side. His jaded olive-like eyes stayed forever fixated to the ground on which he trod. I could not tell whether he was contemplating his lot in his overture to gaol or enjoying our misery. As a preamble to this tale sister, I must confess that Rufus had an uncanny ability of making everybody like him. Even his enemies fell for his pastoral charm. I have never known a man so garlanded with joy and yet so festooned with sorrow. ‘Staring at him will not make him talk,’ Seamus muttered. He had been arduously quiet since leaving the Hindrin. It was as if a part of him had given up. I turned to my friend and tried to fashion a smile. The breaking of the sun amongst the clouds had done little to appease

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our lonesome failure. I could not help but think that it was my responsibility to keep Lyle marooned in his dark gaol. He had told me he would escape. And I had kept quiet. On doing so my friend’s good will had been broken. He had thought he had captured the man who had killed his brother, after searching for so long. Now Lyle was like the wind. Untouchable, unpredictable. Free. And it was my fault.

I held my tongue.

At that singular point I realised I was in the process of believing my own lie. Armintia was my enemy. Legosia’s enemy. Why then sister did I feel as though I owed my loyalty to this sordid land? Why had I fallen for the land of my enemies? I was not just pretending to be Seamus Croft’s friend. I was his friend. And I would have killed for him. And I did sister. I did.

I knew then that I had to make contact with the people of my country before I became consumed by this life I had created. ‘Do not blame yourself,’ Seamus said, misreading my thoughts. I heard the pounding guns distant in the south and steadied my mount. She could hear them too. ‘The Count will not be happy,’ I replied after a long deep breath to ready my mind.

‘Nevertheless do not worry, for Count Loff is too busy with the war to worry about one escaped prisoner. He is fretting about this new Legosian commander, Roush isn’t it?’

I nodded. Roush is a fine man, if he still lives, an officer who loves his men. And the men love him. He is the type of general that could ask anything of the soldiers he commands, and they would follow unconditionally. The first time I met his acquaintance I was a simple trainee. Of all the recruits on parade he singled me out, straightening my jacket and

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whispering into my ear. ‘Must always look presentable to your enemy, can’t have them thinking we don’t know how to dress properly what!’ Father knew him well.

We reached Onis some hours before dusk. The little town was sighted on the horizon by Rufus who talked in his strange verse, a tongue that I slowly grew to love. ‘Smoke lifts from gloom. Beware the enemy, they have come too soon.’

I looked up and saw a dark mist, realising then that Onis was ablaze with fire and flame.

The small town had been touched by the war.

Seamus was the first to kick his mare into a gallop, followed by his men. I hesitated and looked to Rufus. ‘I am no horse,’ he said. I ignored him for it was not my desire to gallop lest the fire was a trap. I scouted the area and noticed Rufus did the same. ‘Your boys?’ I asked, slowly edging my mount closer. I could see clearly five buildings in a conflagration of smoke and death. Rufus’s words betrayed no fear or lie. ‘My boys are many miles away, it is not they that have come out to play.’

I saw Seamus barking at another lieutenant in the town and halted as Captain L’breé walked towards him, his face a mask of contempt. ‘The arrogant buggers just walked straight in. Took us a whole hour to beat them off!’

‘Legosian troopers?’ Seamus asked, a little jolted by the news. I reined my mare in and nodded to L’breé, who noticed Rufus tied behind. ‘You caught the poet then.’

‘But not Lyle,’ I answered. L’breé spat. ‘Doesn’t matter now. A whole Legosian company it was! Supported by a troop of cavalry. How in the name of the underworld did they get here without us knowing?’

‘The population is sparse in this land,’ I replied, ‘what is the Count’s mood?’

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L’breé looked at me and snarled before turning to Seamus. ‘Of course the Count is quite delighted that Onis is ablaze. At this moment I’m sure he cannot hide his happiness. No doubt applauding the Legosian captain for his cunning and spirit.’

‘Angry men play with sarcasm. A fault they cannot fathom,’ Rufus quipped.

‘That supercilious versifier didn’t just imply this was my fault did he?’ L’breé barked, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade. ‘Why I’ll gut him here if he did!’

‘I think it might be wise to just show us to the Count, sir,’ Seamus imparted. L’breé spat again, a trait synonymous with the irascible captain. ‘Well he’s not bloody here is he? Nor have I heard any news from the castle. Probably locked the door and thrown away the key. Daft bugger.’

‘Then we will not waste your time any longer, Aaron find a horse for our captive,’ Seamus commanded.

We left the good captain to the business of the town. I could see that Seamus wished beyond anything to call on Lady Rheese. Only his professional pride and the assurance that her house was untouched stopped him.

‘L’breé is just tired after a hard fight,’ Seamus said apologetically, following the road out of Onis. I shrugged. Serjeant Aaron and his three men were riding behind us, with Rufus tied to a mule. ‘No chance him escaping now,’ the serjeant had said with an amused grin.

The road to Fiojn Castle led up a steep ridge that was flanked by large holly bushes and elm trees. The trail had been purposely built, the first two miles boasting a rough layering of stone that soon turned to soft mud. ‘The rain comes and turns this place into a swamp,’ Seamus

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explained, ‘a few miles beyond the ridge to the west there’s a floodplain. Fiojn Castle is all but cut off then.’

‘You think that’s why no message has been sent?’

Seamus shook his head. ‘Not enough rain. I’m just saying did your boys ever stop to consider that in a few weeks all the main roads will be under water? If they don’t reach Falore they’ll have to retreat back to the beach.’

I suppressed the urge to persuade my friend that I held no allegiance to the Legosian army. Instead I asked the logical question. ‘So how does the region of Fiojn survive in the rainy season?’

‘By boat of course, the main river is dammed otherwise Onis would be under water, alongside several other small villages and towns.’

‘How vulnerably reassuring that is,’ I replied making Seamus laugh.

We could all hear the constant echo of the big howitzer’s firing their two thousand pound shells across a ten miles stretch. Set up on the banks beyond the beach they were pounding the city of Falore. And if Falore was taken we all knew that Fiojn and Onis would be next. My mare tensed at the noise. She was bred for speed and dexterity, not for the crashing terrors of war.

The sun was finally falling to the west. It was sinking low behind a dark cloud. I watched it disappear and heard the bark of a dog as I found myself thinking of the friends I had left behind in Legosia. This had not been the life I had envisaged. My friends and I had wanted glory. I did not want to pretend any longer.

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Feeling my stomach groan I put my hand into my pouch to retrieve an apple acquired by Aaron before we left. I took a bite and tasted the juicy crunch of the fruit. It was dark green, like the eyes of Rufus who sat silently on his mule. He smiled at me and on swallowing a second bite I halted quickly to see three men spring from the undergrowth, like shadows from a dream. Frightening our horses they raised their rifles high. I had not thought that there would be bandits on this road and could see one rifle was staring inexpressibly at me.

The three brigands were masked and Seamus quickly silenced his men into submission.

There would be a bloody slaughter if we resisted. Rufus did not look surprised.

I saw a dog, a collie appear alongside one of the men and shook my head in anger. I should have been more alert sister, but tiredness and hunger had eased my judgement. Seamus tried to speak but was cut off when one of the footpads shook his rifle in defiant intimidation.

After a pause that seemed rather longer than it should have been I decided to smile. ‘Nice dog,’ I said in attempt to unsettle our three brigands.

The masked man, who had his rifle aimed at me, suddenly laughed, and on removing his disguise, lowered his aim. ‘I never had you down as an animal lover Jacob.’

I stared at the face, knowing in that one moment I should have reached for my own rifle.

Instead I shrugged, trying to hide my own surprise. ‘I did not think you would go back to banditry so soon,’ I said in reply.

My adversary grinned, acknowledging Seamus for the first time. ‘We all have our vices Jacob. And honest banditry isn’t the worst of them.’

*

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Richard’s Letter...

And so my stomach still groans, though this time it is the pain of a wound unhealing rather than hunger. I am so very tired sister. The man next to me is blinded. He says it was gas, and that in the last battle ten thousand souls died. If only mine had been one of them. For there is a madness to this next part of the tale that sealed my own doomed fate. It pains me to relive it sister, but I must confess to you of my deeds. Forgive me if you can, for none else have.

I did not expect to see Lyle on that road. His face was rough, travel-worn and gruff. His first action was to have us dismount and on scaring our beasts away, relieved us of our weapons. Rufus was lowered from the mule and a knife from the smallest foe cut his binds. In fact Lyle’s two friends were quite unfamiliar as they revealed to us their faces. The taller was dark skinned with a muscle that spoke of many years of marching and training. I had thought him a soldier at first. A deserter. Lyle laughed at my barb. ‘Hear that Elijah, he thinks you a deserter?’

‘I never desert my flock,’ Elijah replied in a deep, accented voice. His eyes were as dark as coal and his head all but bare. The striking feature was his beard that was grown and then plaited in the tradition befitting the warriors of old. ‘You’re a shepherd?’ I asked.

‘And where is your flock now?’ Seamus cut in gruffly, his hands bound.

‘They look after themselves,’ Elijah answered, his dog sitting at his side. I frowned. ‘I was not aware that sheep were so intelligent.’

‘I was not talking of sheep.’

‘Gentleman,’ Lyle interrupted after embracing and talking to Rufus, ‘I think it best if we stepped off the road. The serjeant and his men first I think. Amos if you would be so kind.’

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Amos was Lyle’s second friend. As the smallest of the three, he made up for his height with hands the size of spades and a mind as calculating as an old raven. His bright red hair was worn long and unkempt. His beard little better than an unpruned bush. The two strangers have a part to play in this tale sister, of which I shall not disclose now.

We were herded down a narrowing, sheltered by the high elm trees that looked over us from above. With our hands bound with laid rope made from hemp and jute, Lyle tracked a southern route that led towards Fiojn Castle. Instructed not to talk I followed, now the prisoner, eyeing Lyle who declined to acknowledge my sullen glare. We pursued a trail that led down a high ridge towards a plain of lonely fields. Dark clouds now roamed as the last rays of light vanished in the west. A grey mist covered us as we went. The shepherd Elijah led us, with his collie dog Willis striding along at his side. Amos covered our backs, while Lyle and Rufus protected our flanks. They were outnumbered but we had been outsmarted.

Following a narrow lane down towards the fields we stopped to take some water. Seamus had been restless, muttering his curses – curses ignored by our captors. I had stayed silent as ordered and watched the four men, examining them, waiting to see any palpable faults or flaws. I had thought Amos the easiest foe to overcome until two of Croft’s men tried to flee.

We had just begun to walk down the ridge towards the plains when Privates Dawson and Helios darted off into the bush. Dawson managed just a few feet when a knife flew into his unprotected back. I had a moment to see it when Amos rushed past me in pursuit of Helios.

There are times sister, when I think I am immune to death. He had his grip on me, but I see people dying and feel nothing. On that day Dawson’s cold dead face looked up at me. His eyes were cast with a frenetic look of shock. He was barely a man. I heard him mutter

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something to Helios when we had stopped for water. They were fools to think they could wrestle from Lyle’s clasp. He is death walking. A man who kills mercilessly. But feels.

I hoped that Helios would not suffer the same fate as his friend. But hope is such a shallow and empty feeling in these darkened days.

Willis the collie began to bark but obeyed his master’s command to heel. When I lost Amos’s figure through the trees I saw Lyle shaking his head. ‘We would not have harmed you, now two of your friends are dead.’

‘I only see one dead,’ Croft answered defiantly. Lyle looked regrettably downcast, kneeling to take the knife from Dawson’s back. ‘You must trust my word when I say your other friend shares this man’s fate.’

The veracious response was met with a noise from the undergrowth that signalled Amos’s reappearance. His expression was grim, and his eyes poised as he wiped a large blooded blade on his sleeve. ‘I shall stay and bury the bodies,’ he said, accepting his knife from Lyle.

‘It is time that we left,’ Lyle snapped, turning to take the lead. We followed, urged on by the rifles of Rufus and Elijah. Croft could barely control his rage, but Lyle, the inexpressive Lyle said nothing. Now there were four captors to match we four prisoners. I knew at that point there was little chance of escape.

Further to the south we saw lights flicker which outlined the silhouette of Fiojn Castle in the distance. I had hoped a sentry would sight us from afar but Lyle was too clever to give our position away. Dark clouds covered the murky sky, transforming us into wraiths running as shadows into darkness. Large ferns grew on both sides of the track, shielding us from unsuspecting eyes. Not even the moon could see us that night.

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Descending the verdant ridge we reached the fields in silence. A natural path weaved its way through the long grass. Croft whispered to me that he knew this land. He was rewarded with a swift jab from Elijah’s rifle stock. I cannot imagine the pain he was feeling. My friend looked exhausted. His eyes were ghost white, his hair matted with dirt – a dirt that dressed his soiled garments. I was not much better. My hair was wild and my beard long. I had not bathed for days and felt the inevitable irritation of lice feeding on my skin.

Lyle must have known this, for our journey began to follow a small stream and we were commanded to drink from it and wash. At that point the dour presence of Amos rejoined us.

He spoke with Lyle briefly before sitting and staring at us from a feld stump. ‘Dirty art thou that tasteth the stream,’ Rufus said watching us with a smile. I paused and saw Elijah laugh.

‘The poet seems to think a sheep may have tainted the water upstream.’

‘And what does the shepherd think?’ I asked, observing the tall guide warily. He had not once lowered his rifle. Elijah stroked his dog before kneeling down to cup a hand into the water. His eyes nor his rifle never left me. ‘The shepherd says the brook is clean,’ he answered after a lengthy pause, ‘but then a man of your ilk should know that.’

I smiled at him, feeling my heart beat with an anxiety and apprehension that betrayed everything. But my head was clear. I breathed hard and glanced to Seamus who was washing silently with Serjeant Aaron and Corporal Bale. When I looked back to Elijah I saw him talking to Rufus. Did he know my training, or who I was? Or had he surmised that a man made famous for killing three of the Ramtk brothers knew when a stream was sodden or not? I do not know sister for I am unsure how much Elijah, a shepherd and my friend, knew. Or how much he was told.

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I do know there was a reason we had stopped to refresh ourselves beside the running brook.

The path took us away from the stream and we were given bread and soft cheese to eat as we went. On reaching a third field I noticed Amos pick some wild garlic from the side of the track and was told by Rufus, in his own poetic way, that Amos had a pack full of delicious foods. Lyle walked in step with me. ‘He is a cook, or wishes to be at any rate,’ he said, glancing behind us. I looked at the man who had evaded me for so long and almost laughed at his confidence. He knew, like I, that at anytime I could have wrestled him to the ground, taking both his and my own rifle that he held around his back.

But then there was Amos behind us and Rufus beside me. And of course Elijah and his dog were forever watchful. Perhaps I could have taken the rifle in one quick move before Amos could shoot. But then Rufus would surely kill me. I do not know whether it was that logic or sheer self-assurance that made Lyle walk by my side. Or perhaps it was the insurance that his rifle was aimed at the backs of Seamus and his two men.

‘I told you I would escape,’ Lyle added after I had failed to reply. I paused, staring straight at the path in front of me. ‘You chose a day I was not there,’ I said hiding my frustration. My captor shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Well Jacob if you had been there then I probably wouldn’t have reached the castle walls. You killed my brothers do not forget. Such skill. It would have been foolish of me to flee knowing you were guarding my escape. Oh!’ Lyle added noticing my unease, ‘yes my brothers. I should swear a blood oath in revenge know doubt. Maybe I will one day,’ Lyle said staring at me, ‘but at the moment you are a lot more helpful to me alive then dead. Remember that. I am a kind person Jacob. I am not like my brothers.’ His mood was

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cheerful. He was tormenting me I know. But looking back sister, I would have been less gracious if the roles were reversed. He would already have been dead.

The fifth field brought with it a clustering of trees. We rejoined the brook and at the verge of an uneven slope we were made to stop. Elijah went off ahead and I was aware of the golden glow of buttercups, now grey in the dim and murky night. It was Seamus who recognised where we were, though I was unfamiliar with the terrain. He shook his head and Lyle ignored him as he talked. ‘At the end of this field we used to play and eat when days were younger.’

I hesitated replying not, witnessing instead Elijah’s signal for us to continue. I saw that Seamus made to resist but his defiant expression soon changed when Amos prodded him in the back. We moved slowly until we reached the end of the field where the brook rushed raucously down a ridge into a valley. A grove of large trees hid the valley, decorated with bracken and blue-flowers. On reaching the clearing before the trees I immediately noticed the apparent signs of a struggle. I did not say anything, but blood stained the grass like gunpowder would a cream gown. ‘Two companies came and took the bodies,’ Lyle said.

‘Why should that concern us?’ Seamus asked boldly, still grieving from the loss of his two men. Lyle knelt and gently touched the blackened grass. ‘Because the men who died on this field were yours. A half-platoon of Dragoons. And they did not come here because they liked the view.’

‘Why were they here?’ I asked in ignorance, turning to Seamus. His look told me all I needed to know.

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Lyle spoke quietly. He was not bragging nor was he boorish. The words he spoke were of genuine sorrow. He looked at me, unable to hold Seamus’s tearful gaze. ‘Because Jacob,’ he sighed, ‘they were the personal guard of Lady Amelia and Lady Rheese.’

My friend Seamus gasped. A soldier all his life and a man of great courage he may have been. But that did not stop him from crying that night. Ignoring him I looked to Lyle. ‘The Count knows?’

‘He knows they’re missing. He does not know who took them.’

‘But you do.’

Lyle nodded. ‘Elijah witnessed the slaughter from afar. He intercepted a note, a ransom shall we say. One of their men was clearly on his way to deliver it to the castle. On acquiring the note we read it and politely interrogated the messenger.’ Lyle paused and looked at Elijah who grinned. ‘The information was very interesting.’

‘And does the monster want to play at being hero again?’ I asked, guessing Lyle’s intentions. He smiled and bowed. ‘With your help of course. Curious though, for the message was not addressed to the girl’s father,’ he added, staring at Seamus who wiped away a tear and screamed.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Jack’s Memoirs...

Now that we know a little more about what Lyle did after he escaped, we can tentatively assess how he fled from the dungeons of Fiojn. And though I was not there at his moment of freedom, and though he never told me how he did it, I shall indwell on you my own assumption. He did it with money and charm. He coaxed the guards with his silken tongue, whispering them promises and offering them gold. Enough gold will soften even the most honourable of men. Especially if the captive happens to be of a persuasive and admirable character. I have no doubt that somebody of Count Loff’s staff conspired to work with him.

Nothing else can account for a bloodless escape.

And from there he met with two men I knew nothing about until our reunion weeks later. I here tell that Amos Teale was the kind of deviant who could avert attention, and without question he was inside the castle at the time of the rescue. His father was an actor after all! From there I am resolved to think they convened with Elijah the Shepherd, who led them away from the depths of trouble. Elijah had his own Flock. That did not mean sheep, though he kept them, but his own company of men; brigands, masterless men who were oath bound to him. Such vigilantes are dangerous and how Lyle knew Elijah I do not know. Amos was a soldier once so I heard. A dangerous murderer who found the restoration of his equilibrium in cookery. Yet I never did meet him.

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But at the point when my fever broke, five days after my arrival into Roark’s camp, I knew nothing of this or Lyle’s company. Soon we would even come to befriend Jacob Hilmai, though I never counted him as such…

Extracts from Turncoat…

Oak, elm, sycamore, birch, alder, hornbeam. All these trees and many more stood in the great forest known as Braásk. They looked down on us like gods. And shielded us like kings.

When I was strong enough to leave my musky tent, Roark sent for me at the dark of night. The stars were out, gazing upon us through the trestles of the ubiquitous trees. I had thought that my summons had been a private affair and was surprised to see four other people with Roark, sat around a fire. Nelson De’brant smiled at me; for a nobleman’s son he dressed ill and spoke foul, but at least his manner’s could be pleasant. The man next to him, Eli, could not fit such complements. He was both foulmouthed and ill-mannered. A rogue as cunning as a fox and as hardened as a great bear. The third man I knew little of, only his name. Moera. His was a striking feature for he had but one ear. The doctor made up our number, snoozing perilously close to the burning embers.

Roark greeted us with his customary gruff bearing. He looked at us with no smile nor nod. ‘We five leave tomorrow for Onis,’ he said in his brusque manner. We nodded, for we did not question our chief. ‘I cannot tell you why,’ he added, ‘only I ask you to trust me, in the same way I have in naming you as my companions.’ Roark stared down into the fire and lit a fat cigar from the flames. ‘If,’ he then said philosophically, ‘if a man knew something, something that was not right, should he change what he knows?’

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His question surprised us. Needless to say we remained silent. After a lengthy pause I ventured to shed an educated light on an otherwise sombre party. ‘That depends,’ I said, ‘on whether your notion of right is in fact righteous.’

‘An opinion on right and wrong depends on the person and the circumstance,’ Nelson commented, his hands close to the fire. I shook my head vehemently. ‘No man is above the code of ethics.’

‘We are brigands,’ Nelson argued, ‘we believe what we do is right, but there is a reason we are outlaws.’

‘This ain’t the time for one of ya bloody ’sophical conversations,’ Eli grunted. I uttered my irritable reply, which I shall not write here. From there I simply looked to our champion.

Roark was gazing into the flames reflectively. His soul looked torn. His eyes were staring into a future unknown, a future of torment and grief. ‘Do you have word from your brother?’ I asked quietly. Roark glanced at me before drawing silently on his cigar. ‘A letter was received,’ he admitted, ‘but that is not the reason we are to depart.’

‘No! A pox on you all!’ Morcam garbled in his sleep, rolling away from the fire. We looked at the doctor and sat pensively. ‘Drunk as a badger drowned in whisky that one,’ Eli said, drinking from a half-empty wineskin. ‘Told me there was something wrong with me eyes the other day,’ he added in a tone that thought otherwise.

‘What did he say?’ Nelson asked, taking the wineskin from his friend. Eli shrugged.

‘Something about me not seeing a whore in a brothel. Damned unsettling.’

‘Glasses would suit you,’ Nelson mocked, ‘what do you think Moera?’

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Our silent companion looked up, as if shaken from a dream. He shook his head and scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Yes,’ was his wanton reply. Eli, the spotted, red faced Eli, would look like a ghastly spotted toad donning such spectacles. Roark took no interest in our blithe conversation. I saw him staring at the doctor. Never had there been such a drunk in all my days, and yet the erstwhile Ranger trusted the man. With Rufus taken and Lyle gone, Doctor Morcam was Roark’s oldest confident. When he was sober he was quite capable of giving some sound and well reasoned advice. Not so whence evening comes and the evil of alcohol ensues. Before passing out he could be quite vociferous in nature. And then at dusk, in a loud delirium, he would shout acclamations of joy, expressing sentiments of viva and applause. And then he would treat a patient, inebriated. Subsequently, when morning came the cycle would begin again.

Such was the fallen character of Alexander Morcam.

But perhaps we were all broken men. For we had been broken and abused by the realities of our despotic government. Such genius would be burnt; pages of literature, science and art.

And all because the emperor either disliked it or felt threatened because of it.

An owl began to call overhead, searching for wood-mice or moles. Creatures of the night came out to feed and I shivered at the memory of being alone in darkness, with the eyes of wolves staring at me greedily. The hoot of the owl irritated Eli, whose foul tongue swore raucously. Placing another log on the fire he then asked me to recount a story, whether fiction or true. ‘Alas I am not Rufus.’

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‘Tell us one anyhow,’ Nelson urged. I shook my head and before I could speak Roark interrupted. His face had a perpetual glare, but we close few knew that was but a mask. ‘I’ll tell you a story,’ he said again after we fell silent.

‘What is it about?’ I asked interested.

He paused, taking his cigar from his mouth. ‘Loyalty,’ Roark answered grimly. His eyes forever stayed fixated to the fire. ‘Five champions,’ he began, ‘were once sent to a far off land by their king. A king they disliked, but honour bound them to his will. He sent them away with an order to kill a rival king. Loyally our five champions went, sailing the rough sea. But on landing our heroes were betrayed. Betrayed, they suspected by the man who had sent them away. Captured and taken, a man of grace and honour – their foe whom they were sworn to kill – offered them redemption for their own lives. Gladly they took it. But at a price. They would serve their king no more.’

‘What happened after that?’ Nelson asked after Roark had finished. Our storyteller shrugged. ‘They were champions no longer, exiled, dishonoured, cast away to die a miserable death.’

‘Copplewob!’ Morcam shouted, sitting up and staring at Roark defiantly.

‘I’m sorry?’ I asked, looking to the doctor and then Roark, who ignored our inebriated friend. Morcam spat. ‘I said copplewob, twaddle, gobbledygook. Complete nonsense. A load of copplewob.’

‘There is no such word,’ I argued adamantly. The doctor looked at me as if I were a fool and grabbed the wineskin from Nelson. On finishing the sack he peered at me and belched.

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‘Well there is now. Thinking you know everything because you wrote a silly book. Damned fool you are, and damned fool you’ll stay. Copplewob.’

‘So you know the bloody story then?’ Eli asked with a grin.

‘My young man,’ Morcam answered, ‘my young blind friend,’ he added mischievously, ‘of course I know the story. And they didn’t die old men. They went out fighting, fighting to the end. Oh sure one of them died after he volunteered to go and tell the king they would no longer bear arms, poor soul. Had his manly organ stapled to his head. Horrible, quite horrible.

But that’s the price you pay for telling a king you won’t fight for him anymore. The rest died heroically of course. More wine?’ he added, hoping to acquire more liquor. Roark shook his head. ‘I can never remember the endings.’

‘That’s because you never want the tales to end. But every tale has an end. That’s why tails are at the rear and not the head,’ he laughed, smiling at his own witticism. We groaned.

‘So back to Onis I hear,’ Morcam added brightly. I frowned. So the doctor had not been sleeping. ‘Sleeping? Sleeping?’ Morcam cried noisily, after Nelson mentioned the fact, ‘why would I be sleeping when it’s not yet midnight?’

‘He’s drunk,’ Eli whispered to Moera.

‘I have ears you know. Two of them. And they perform the function of hearing very well my blind little friend.’ Eli grimaced at the reference to his eyesight and clenched his fist with surprising restraint. ‘No!’ Morcam continued, ‘how can I be drunk when I’m still thirsty?’

‘A waterhole full of beer,’ Nelson grunted, shaking his head.

‘Well if you’re not drunk then riddle us this,’ I said, ‘if a man knew something was not right, should he change what he knows?’

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‘Well that depends,’ Morcam mused, rubbing his chin in a rather exaggerated fashion.

‘Depends on what?’ Eli asked.

‘On whether you profit from changing what is right,’ our good doctor answered.

We paused and I, ever the moralist, shook my head. ‘So you would gain to profit even if it was against the code of ethics?’

‘Code of ethics?’

‘The Code of Ethics by Capisrious.’

‘Oh that magnanimous bastard. Right filthy liar that one. Shouldn’t drink more than two glasses of wine in front of a lady my arse!’

‘Granted some of his points regarding society are a bit dated and nonsensical, but ethically speaking he writes with great wisdom,’ I argued.

‘Is it wisdom to write down something man cannot obtain?’

‘Yes,’ I stated in reply to the doctor’s rational but quite inane question. ‘Capisrious obtained what he called ‘ethical fulfilment’ as have others.’

‘Capisrious was a murderer and a whore-taker, ask Rufus.’

‘But etiquette is important,’ I responded weakly. Morcam shook his head. ‘And you call yourself an intellect. Etiquette is manners and quite a different subject; of course we can all learn manners.’ Morcam glanced at Eli. ‘Well nearly all,’ he said, ‘however, ethics is the distinction between what is right and what is wrong, what is good and what is bad. Usually our conscience decides the matter. Capisrious knew that but decided to write a set of rules, a list of meaningless points because he thought he could get rich quick. And he did. You should read Okel man, he’ll tell you.’

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‘Okel?’ I repeated sceptically, and told Morcam I had never heard of the man. The doctor nodded his head. ‘Ofal Okel. Quite a genius. Still alive I believe, in a prison somewhere.

Shame, the man could write sense. Which is hard enough, because most people struggle to have any sense in this silly little world.’

I glanced to Roark who was smiling. He stood, stubbing his cigar on a felled stump next to him. ‘So to follow your conscience is your advice to me?’ he asked. Morcam frowned. ‘If you like. But I can give you better advice than that, for free as well seen as though I’m thirsty.’

‘What is this wonderful advice?’ I asked derisively, quite defeated. Morcam looked at me with a frown, like a schoolmaster would a child. ‘You know,’ he then said, quite changing his tone, ‘I do agree with you on one point my learned friend.’

‘What is that?’

‘Perhaps there is sense in writing things down so man can aspire to be good. But I doubt that will make them happy, especially when they’re dead.’

‘How comforting.’

‘No, better telling the truth. But then men never like hearing that do they? Did someone say there was more wine?’ the doctor asked, struggling to stand. Roark stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘I shall give you more wine if you tell me what better advice you have.’

‘Patience Roark,’ Morcam spurted, accepting our champion’s hand and rising with a groan, ‘you of all people should know patience. And as for you,’ he added turning to me, ‘I’ll let the Capisrious incident lie seen as though you’ve been ill and all.’

‘Is that the advice? Patience?’ Eli asked brazenly. Morcam scratched his head and searched for his glasses. On finding them he quickly placed the spectacles on Eli’s nose before

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the man could blink. With his mouth agape Eli sat shocked, quite the toad. ‘The blind can see!

Aren’t I a good doctor? Patience of course is commonsense, so I would not offer it as advice.

Something wrong Eli, you look a bit feverish?’

Eli twitched but remained silent. Morcam ignored him and turned to Roark. ‘My advice to you my friend, and heed it well for it is the best advice a man can get, is this –’. Stumbling, our doctor leaned into Roark’s ear and exclaimed loudly. ‘Beware of promiscuous women and bad beer!’

I laughed, for erelong we would return to sanity. To Onis.

*

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Richard’s Letter...

The scream was not that of fright nor fear, but a hollow howl of rage and frustration. A trivial thought and a kind heart can often lead to unintended hurt sister. We can often muse on what we should have done in the past. Or in this case, should not have done.

That night was a dark void of suffering for Seamus. I do not know for sure that the event at the High Games led to this terrible abduction, but it is likely that one embrace was seen by a Legosian agent. Rufus, in his usual verse, admitted he was witness to the fateful moment also.

It was pure chance I am sure that Annabel was taken too. How cruel fate can be.

‘Don’t need Croft and his men,’ Lyle said to me moments after Seamus’s forlorn outburst.

We had made our way down the glen, hidden in the darkness of the vale. I shrugged and

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stared at Serjeant Aaron and Corporal Bale, who stood loyally close to their lieutenant. ‘Might be good in a scrap.’

‘I’m not looking to get into a scrap Jacob.’

‘Still they aren’t useless,’ I reasoned, watching Elijah drift further down the valley towards the grey and silent tarn. Lyle smiled. ‘But neither of them killed my three brothers.

You seem to have a talent for passing death onto those whose time has been cut short. They don’t.’

‘Seamus will not leave us,’ I argued again, for I did not wish to desert my friend.

‘I have seen Seamus fight Jacob. He does not have the heart for it, though he tries. But I see you are resolved in this matter so take them with us we shall.’

Other than Elijah, we did not creep down into the heart of the valley but merely skirted the western edge. Amos picked some berries from a bush and threw some to us. ‘Not ripened but they’ll do,’ he said looking to the sky, ‘gonna rain soon,’ he added with poise and assurance. I ignored him and walked with Lyle, who had yet to relinquish our captive weapons.

Hitherto we had not picked up the trail of our quarry, but Elijah had told us that half a company of Legosian troopers had been in the valley. ‘Likely moved to the next, hiding in the woods no doubt,’ he had said with his inherent calm. His collie dog looked at me then and bared his teeth – a threat I think if we chose to run. The next valley was thirteen miles away.

Lyle grinned. ‘We have to make it before dawn, still think they can keep up?’ he asked. I looked to the three men and told them our destination. ‘Lyle says you can leave now, his men won’t hunt you.’

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‘My men stay,’ Seamus replied. I expected that. Men oath-sworn to the Count would never forsake his daughter. My friend spat towards Lyle. ‘And why are you so interested in the daughter of your enemy?’

‘Because her father had her believe me a monster,’ Lyle replied simply, turning with his rifle to urge us on. I do not believe that was the true reason. I could not help but think back to the day when Lyle was captured. That day when Amelia was under the tree with him. I hesitated to believe there was a connection between the two. But then Amelia had not yet lured me fully into her layer. This night changed everything.

Imagine sister, a group of men who dislike each other. Men who would kill if the chance arose. Then why did we see fit to join forces that dark night? I have often thought how different fate might have been if Seamus had killed Lyle on the road. Or if Lyle had put a knife to my throat. It is strange how much power women have over we weak men. Did we do it for love? For honour? I believe Lyle did it because he was ensnared with the idea of rescuing the daughter of his foe.

Leaving the glen behind us we followed a trail made by men of old. It was soft underfoot and light bracken skirted a steep slope to our right. In one field I saw a solitary tree, a maple I believe, standing alone, dark under the glare of low unyielding clouds. Rufus chanted a sad poem to accompany the lonely tree. One that made me feel quite alone.

Our pace was not a run but nor were we walking. I felt sweat trickle down my back and cling to my tunic. My breathing was steady, my legs light. Seamus did his best to stay with us, but he was slowly losing the fast pace set by Lyle. We first stopped after an hour, rejoining the small brook that swam through the pastures of Count Loff’s lands. Lyle gave me an indignant

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look before turning to my friend. His two men were even slower than Seamus. A fact not unnoticed by our captor. ‘I am sure the Count will be pleased when he finds out we didn’t rescue his daughter because we did not reach her in time,’ he said, his usual dark cynicism lost on Seamus. My friend splashed water onto his face and paused before responding with a venomous riposte I did not know he possessed. I shall not write it down here sister for he spoke words that a lady should not hear. And once he had finished Lyle laughed. ‘Call me what you like Seamus,’ he said, looking east in search of the sun. Our existence was still tortured by the night. But this gave us an advantage sister. For darkness can be feared, but it can also be used. ‘One word to my men and they would kill you, but I have not and I will not give that order,’ Lyle continued, ‘but you three slow me down, and though I shall not strike an unarmed gentleman, my two friends are not so principled.’

I saw Amos and Elijah move like hawks in the sky. They moved swiftly and silently, quickly knocking the stocks of their rifles into the heads of Aaron and Bale. Seamus swore fiercely and made to strike Lyle. I would have stopped him, and I did, but Lyle told me to stand down. ‘Nay Jacob if he wants to hit me let him; I no doubt deserve it.’

‘The brother striketh down his foe,’ Rufus grunted, stepping back un-alarmed.

Seamus glanced at me and stared into Lyle’s eyes. I knew he would do it and feared for my friend’s life. When it came I was surprised to see Seamus’s right fist make contact with Lyle’s left cheek. The blow did not send our captor to his knees, but merely made the man stagger. Clearly Rufus knew the once championed Ranger better than I. After a moment’s pause, Lyle put his hand to his cheek and nodded slowly. ‘I have allowed you that for your brother’s sake,’ he said calmly, ‘but swing again and all you will see

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is my knife in your gullet. Your men are not dead Seamus, merely unconscious. Now I suggest you break into a run and follow my good friends. Jacob a word please,’ Lyle added as Seamus reluctantly followed Rufus, Amos and Elijah down a grass bank and into the darkness.

I watched Lyle circle around me and stood still, fearing for my life. It is a strange feeling that of fallibility, hopelessness. I have never met someone so assured, so confident as Lyle Ramtk. He is a man whose very appearance is enough to make one shiver. His words are often layered with sarcasm and dry wit. He smiles at the most inappropriate and inopportune times.

And he always surprised me. Whether it be by his actions or his words.

‘You know Jacob,’ he said coldly, using my first name as if we were old friends who had become bitter enemies, ‘I should kill you. I should take my knife and slash your throat for what you did to my brothers. The blood of my family binds me to this. However, and for this you are truly fortunate, I shall tell you a secret.’ He paused and smiled. A smile so unnerving and so unassuming it made my blood chill. ‘I cared little for my brothers. For Roark yes, there is no finer brother, but the other three. They were petty thieves that raped when they could and killed who they wanted. It is their dealings that have turned me into a monster. Me! A gentleman. A man of honour! They were bastards Lyle, quite literally bastards. Bastards and thieves, but do not think for one minute that makes you my friend.’ Lyle stopped and looked at me, his smile now quite gone. I could almost see a tiredness in his eyes. An expression that lasted but a few seconds before a mask of passive inspection resumed. ‘I do not like liars. The last man that lied to me found he had no tongue when I had found out the truth. So when I ask you this question, reply honestly. You were a Knight once weren’t you?’

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I hesitated and looked to the dark ground before staring at my foe. ‘I still am,’ I said. I do not know why I did it, but something inside me could not resist revealing to this man who I was. It may have been his own honesty, or maybe I wanted to surprise him; shake the man who had thus rattled me like none other could. I cannot say whether there was alarm at my confession, for he remained perfectly still. He did spit at my feet however, an Armintian insult bestowed only for traitors.

But then he did something I did not expect.

Remember sister when we were children and we used to follow the spice merchants into the village? We were young then, and our brothers much older. We had nothing to do. Father was worrying about our poor mother. She was sick and he was fretting for the one he loved.

We wanted to play with him and he shouted at us to leave him be.

Our nurse and guardian was sent for but we saw the convoy upon the road and were filled with excitement. Carts after carts full of the most wonderful spices were being harried into the village. Father had warned us never to talk to the dark skinned men who manned them. ‘Horrible creatures,’ he had once said to us. We were scared and intrigued by them. You remember the rumour about them sister, that anyone, whether man or woman, girl or boy, was caught stealing from them, their hands would be struck off regardless of rank.

How silly we children were! We followed the merchants into the village and on stopping, watched them barter with the market folk. You saw some fruit resting on a counter, and feeling hungry myself I took it. No sooner had I the apricots in my grasp when a large black hand grabbed my arm. A dark old merchant looked at me and then to you, and likely thought we were poor village children for we had been playing out in the garden all day. I started to

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cry but you stared at the man defiantly. Stared at him and hugged me tight. ‘You shall have to chop off my hand too,’ you said in your little defiant voice. The dark man looked at us before laughing. His laugh was deep and hollow. And instead of chopping off our hands he gave us more fruit; bananas, figs, pineapples, mangos, grapes and said to me quietly. ‘Next time you feel scared, remember your sister’s courage and the kindness of a stranger.’ And perhaps that is why I am writing this long letter, nay this long story to you sister. For I am scared. Scared of death.

And I was scared on that dark moonless night too. I was a grown man. A Knight of Legosia. But Lyle scared me. He gazed at me for what seemed like an endless age. I could see his hands and waited for that inevitable squeeze of the trigger.

And yet like the spice merchant, Lyle did something quite unexpected. He took a step towards me and sighed. Sighed and then looked at me. ‘We rescue the women,’ he said.

And then returned to me my rifle.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Amelia’s Diary...

I am resolved to write once again. Perhaps he is right and it will bring about a certain harmony. Alas I tried in vain to write some more of what I experienced in my diary, but one of my captors threatened to burn it if I did. The very day fills me with horror… …All I could remember was that we were taken on horseback blindfolded, and found ourselves at dark of night amid a thick cluster of trees. We were left under guard around a small fire. There was barely any smoke and the crackle of small twigs did little to warm us. I tried to remain calm but inevitably I cried. Annie sought out my hand and squeezed it tight. I could see she had been crying also. It was not the crying of two scared women, though we were, but rather that cry of shock when tears fill you because your future looks utterly hopeless.

The question I have to ask is why us? And why then? I have been told by one arduous man that it was my fault. Not in quite so many words, but I cried into his arms when I realised it was.

And so let me try and continue to piece together my little adventure. For when somebody inevitably reads this diary at least they cannot claim boredom at this part of my life.

I shall endeavour to write in as much detail as I can remember, though it pains me to do so.

Memory might blur my senses but that cruel night will never be forgotten. My initial emotions and reactions could well have been altered through time but I shall never stop feeling ashamed and distraught.

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And I do remember feeling scared. Scared in the bleakest sense. And how insufficiently warm that small fire was!

When my mother died she bequeathed to me her ring. Like most family heirlooms it has been passed down from mother to daughter. I do not wear it and look at it now, holding it between my fingers. Why do I not wear this ring you may want to ask? My answer is this; it is a symbol of slavery. Of binding myself to a man I wish not to marry. And so I hide it. Hide it so none can have that power over me.

For powerless I was that night.

I sat looking around our little fire with tears in my eyes. They had taken off our blinds when we had reached the woods, woods foreign to my eyes. Annie looked at me, her hand still in mine. ‘They are all dead?’ she asked, talking of the unfortunate souls whose task it was to protect us. I nodded, for we had witnessed the slaughter from the horse's mouth, or so my groom would say. It was a ghastly sight. One I wish not to experience again. Lieutenant Harris and his men had little chance of survival. They were outnumbered, outmanoeuvred and out skilled; three exponents, my father has told me, that will inexorably reign down defeat on any army, large or small.

‘Ever been raped?’ was the first thing I remember one of the soldiers asking me. It was then, when I looked at their facings, that I realised these men were of Legosian ilk. I did not respond to the barb and forced back my tears. These men feasted on fear. And so I made a pledge to not show it. Even when one of the men grabbed me I remained quiet. I felt empty and waited for the inevitable violation. It did not come. My dress may have been ripped but my aggressor soon turned to Annie.

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Poor Annie. She was the prettier and none of the other soldiers dared touch us that night.

I watched as Annie screamed, her dress ripped, her face beaten as a man with long dark hair stripped her naked and forced himself on her. He was drunk for I had smelt his dour breath when he had grabbed me. Annie screamed and her scream soon turned to a whimper.

I did not try to stop it, nor did I look away, for I thought if I did then Annie might lose more than her dignity. I feared for her life. And my own.

The whole beastly act did not take long and when the man had finished he stood up quite unashamed and grinned at me. Taking another drink of strong liquor I shivered. ‘Now,’ he blurted, looking at the both of us. ‘Kiss!’

He made to grab me but then it seemed order was restored for I heard an exasperated voice bark a command and our violator soon stood to attention, his breaches half lifted. Clearly a well mannered virtuous man chastised him. I expected a young handsome officer and turned to see our saviour and saw nothing of the sort. Instead I saw a grey haired veteran with a large frivolous moustache that tried to hide his burnt and shrivelled face. His nose was bent and his eyes pale. His mouth was large and displayed little or no signs of teeth. His chin, for a better use of the word, was long and disfigured. I presumed the man had ears but I could see none under his long unkempt hair. ‘Captain de Poole madam,’ he said in greeting, watching the drunken soldier escorted from the camp, ‘I must apologise for my men,’ he then added in an educated mould that was quite the reverse to his hideous appearance. ‘Especially Lieutenant Asdur. A young opulent man who thinks because he is rich he can do what he pleases.’ An orderly had found a blanket for Annie and had set to work stitching her dress. I could not imagine these were the same people who mindlessly slaughtered our guard. Captain de Poole

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saw the doubt in my mind. ‘I must also apologise for the way we treated your escort. Under normal circumstances prisoners might have been acceptable. But alas this is war and you were a prize too dear.’ He paused and bowed his head. ‘I hope I am talking to Lady Amelia for it would be monstrously embarrassing and a sad loss of life if I had abducted the wrong woman.’

I thought about deceiving this old man but soon decided against it. I could only manage to nod my head before taking Annie in my arms. ‘She your lady-in-waiting?’

I nodded again. At length he stroked his withered skin. ‘Fine dress she wore for such a humble service. Matters little now at any rate. Thanks to my lieutenant’s actions she is worthless, for we cannot ransom spoiled goods. Dear me I am terribly sorry,’ he added on seeing my reaction, ‘too used to men you see. Talking like a beast. I must apologise once again.

Here have a hankie,’ he added, offering me a white silken handkerchief. I took it wearily and watched as he stood and left, offering his apologies once again and bowing smartly. I could not help but think then that if all lieutenants acted like Asdur and all captains looked like de Poole, then Legosia was a sorry place to live.

I tried to comfort Annie, but she could not stop crying, and even when the young orderly brought back her patched up dress, she would not wear it or move. She could not even look at me. Though as my eyes grew heavy and the fire slowly died she did speak to me. ‘It hurts,’ she said slowly and I felt like weeping for I could not possibly know what pain she was feeling. I stroked her hair and kissed her head. ‘You must sleep, if you can?’

‘It hurts,’ she said again and I looked at her bruised face. I held both my hands to her head and looked into her eyes. Her own turned to the waning fire. She could not bear to look at me and for that I felt terrible! I had not tried to stop Asdur, but then realised she was not

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talking about her face. Her hands were pressed against her abdomen and were lowered further to rub away the pain. When she lifted them again I saw blood. ‘I should have stopped him,’ I then said weakly.

‘He would have raped you too,’ she replied soberly.

Even now I feel tears well for my friend. She was violated in the most devilish fashion and I was helpless, powerless to stop it. But Lieutenant Asdur would meet his end. An end, so I am told, that fitted his crime.

It may have been another hour before Annie finally slept and on doing so I took from my pocket this diary I keep close. I then asked the young orderly that tended us to light the fire and began to write something of my tale as it begun. I described the picnic we had and Lieutenant Harris’s silly obsession regarding fish. Annie had been so colourful then. Yet when the sun died and the moon stayed away she suffered. I have since gone back and written more about that frightful day. And tears flow as I remember how our happiness turned into sorrow.

It almost feels foolish to write that saying, of which its origins are unknown: fate can

change under the same cloud. In fact I remember an old poet from the classical times write about fate. He described it as the right hand of the gods. If that is so then the gods of old were cruel. For my own want I see evil intertwined through man because man made himself so.

I believe it was a serjeant who barked at me to stop writing, stumping out the fire when it was apparent I had. Clearly these men were scared just like me.

Before I fell into my own slumber Captain de Poole reappeared, tapping me on the shoulder and making it obvious that it was very rude to do so. ‘Should not have sneaked up on my lady. Cannot abide shiftiness. Matters not now,’ he muttered, glancing at Annie, her head

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resting on my lap. ‘I thought that it would be prudent if I were to make you aware of our departure time. It shall be first light. Likely we won’t meet anybody on the road with it been the country, but if we do I would like to apologise in advance for any unsavoury activity that might occur. If I could take prisoners I would but you slow me down as it is, and that’s not to be rude, no!’ he said, blushing at his own discourtesy, ‘I’m merely pointing out a clear anatomical fact. Lewry, my orderly, will see to your breakfast. I hope you can stomach venison so early on. I can’t you see. Gives me the cramps – There I go again!’ he garbled with a laugh, ‘the girl alright?’

I shook my head.

‘Damned unpleasant business, pardon my language,’ de Poole continued, ‘I’d flog the rascal if I could but his father is rather protective of the boy. Like a bitch her puppy. My goodness there I go again! I see you write poetry,’ he added, misreading my diary for an excuse for writing verse. ‘No doubt you could spin together a good yarn from this ghastly experience.

I prefer prose myself. Simple man like I am. Have some of it published back home. I believe a publisher tried to get it printed over here and was beheaded or something rotten like that.’ I did not tell the captain for the surprise quite caught me. I suddenly realised who this man was, for I have read two of Ulysses de Poole’s forbidden books. Banned literature and quite marvellous stories! To think the man behind the pen looked like that! ‘I must take my leave madam, if I could set you free I would but my hands are tied so I should warn you now that if you try to escape I must apologise for my men’s actions. Yannas you silly bugger don’t put that branch on the fire, it’s too damp. You want the whole world to know we’re here?’ he barked watching a soldier stoke a second fire. He turned to me and bowed. ‘I apologise again for my

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foul language. But I am afraid my men only understand the more vulgar usages. May you sleep soundly,’ he added on leaving. A funny man. I do hope he survived that night, and for that matter he survives the war.

I only write so because I know that on that very morning many of Captain de Poole’s men died.

I awoke before dawn, still dark and strangely silent. The soldiers were sleeping and I felt Annie stir beside me. A solitary guard stood watching us, leaning casually against a tree. The fire had burned away and I felt the cold wisp of the wind hit me with chilling sobriety. It was a fitting feeling for five events transpired that morning which shocked me deeply. My mode

d’laris.* There are times when one must remember that life is a fragile thing. It is like a vase full of snowdrops in spring. Indubitably divine and yet so easily broken, so easily wilted. The very tips of my fingers tingle at it all. My mortality. Even writing it down and reading it makes me shiver with uncontrollable dread. Walking the bridge of trepidation and not falling from its path has taught me several excellent lessons regarding the performance of the male form.

Firstly, always have a man at your side, ignore him if he is tiresome but cling to him if he is – my mischievous spirit was going to write rich once again, but since money neither renders happiness nor guarantees one’s safety I shall settle for astute. If we women were ever to be in the unfortunate position of needing the aid of a man, then be sure that that man knows his left from his right and is of sound conscience. *

An adage of the Armintian old tongue. There is no direct translation, however the nearest can be summarised as ‘many shocks’.

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Man is quite brilliant at running; in fact he excels at this. For man was made to run, and it seems that a small few were designed also to take life. Or at least that is my own preference.

There is no point needing a man’s help and finding out that this sad excuse for a being is too fat to fight and too slow to run. I believe a man who can kill without so even flinching and run in a manner that can conquer the trials of distance is an altogether exciting monster; an evil being with superior intelligence and unwitting charm. If a woman finds a monster such as this then she should cling to him. For with a conscience brings feeling. And in a world of monsters you would do well to choose those who feel – even if they do not show it. Find this monstrous man and you will be safe. Find the man who is willing to rescue you from death and hold him tight.

Such men are rare glitters of gold.

It is amusing to me, even in this time of sorrow, to reflect on the fact that I have found two such beasts.

I can remember one of the trees dancing that morning in the wind. It was the tree next to our solitary guard. I remember it because it was jingling to the dance of death. I stared at it, enchanted before smiling. It is hard to describe the feeling you have when you are lost and yet are quite confident of being found. At the time I was quite sure father would find me.

Annie woke soon after and looked at me for one brief moment. I could feel her shivering and took her in my arms. I gave our guard a defiant glare before stroking her hair affectionately. No woman should be treated with such barbarity. Her pride has been taken and I do not know whether she will ever trust man as a collective ever again. Woe to any who even think of committing such crimes!

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‘I dreamt of shadows,’ Annie said quietly and most suddenly, ‘shadows that bite, bite out your heart at night. They are there you know,’ she alleged to me forcefully, ‘there waiting for you to shut out the light.’ She laughed. It was not one of glee, rather the laugh of a mind broken. ‘They do not always bite of course; sometimes they just stand and stare, stand and stare, licking their lips waiting for their feast. You can hear them. They think you cannot but they do not fool me. Those noises you hear, those unspeakable, unexplainable noises – it’s them. Coming to feast on you. To watch you –’ ‘Annie,’ I tried, but she would not listen.

‘They might even stroke you, and you know that feeling because you feel a faint brush but turn too late and see nothing. Watch and touch. Stand and stare.’

‘She alright?’ the guard asked me, his face torn with a surprising amount of apprehension.

‘What do you think?’ I snapped back. Annie stared into the waning fire. ‘It still hurts,’ she then said, her madness lifted.

I felt a tear trickle down my cheek and suppressed the urge to cry outwardly. Instead I stared into the trees, fixing my mind on our salvation. All the trees were dancing now. They were laughing too, that I was sure. They knew what was coming.

And I simply stared.

Annie began to utter madness again but I ignored it. Instead I imagined my life as I wanted it, happy and free. The chains of conformity lifted, and the shackles of society struck off. I felt a warm feeling of happiness as I dreamt of such things: Me reading Obtrilious and his Sonnets under the apple tree. Greeting guests in one of many public extravaganzas. Singing the

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hymns of Latimer and Elion without fear of suppression. Trusting one’s retainers without subterfuge or trickery. Feeling contented with the man of my choosing close to my side.

All this I want. And all of it was broken when I saw a set of confident eyes lurking in the distance. Such warm and trustworthy eyes. I knew them instantly. They sang to me of my freedom. That was the first shock of five that morning. And unlike the others it comforted me.

You could be forgiven by thinking I would pen nothing else this night but alas there is still much to tell. No sooner had my trance been broken that I turned and saw my second shock.

Jacob Hilmai.

Mr. Hilmai walking under guard into the camp. He had his rifle pointed down, which meant he meant no harm, and walked as confidently as those eyes I had seen in the thick rise of trees to the north.

Shepherded on by a wary guard, he walked past me remorselessly. He did not even look at me, nor Annie, but simply walked on, befitting a man of rank or noble birth. Captain de Poole soon greeted him, even bowing slightly. It was only then that Jacob glanced my way, and his eyes were like stone in winter. Cold and hard. We had been betrayed! Betrayed by the man who had sworn to my father that he was Legosian no more. That is what I felt and it made me spit with abhorrence and detestation in his direction.

They then moved some distance away so that hear them I could not. It seemed unnatural to see a familiar face in that early morning. It also hurt to see the man who had betrayed us.

Watching them I saw Jacob take de Poole by the arm and they walked further still so that I could no longer see them through the trees. Even our guard seemed distracted by this strange

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event. I would even venture to say he was mesmerised, like so many others who were slowly waking form their slumber.

‘Falore has fallen!’ I then began to hear from the excited throng around us. ‘Falore has fallen!’ I heard again with more vigour after what seemed an age. I shook with alarm, for this was my third shock on that frightful morning. Surely not? Even I know what importance Falore has on the future of this war. For it to fall means the defeat of our Armintian Southern Armies. Even Annie realised the significance of such accusations. ‘Campbell is in Falore,’ she muttered, talking of her stepson.

I do not remember replying, for before I could do so I received my fourth shock. Now that we are at war it is hard to imagine harmony but a lifetime at peace meant I shrieked when I heard the explosion. Three to be exact. All frighteningly loud and all seemingly near. Our guard looked worried as several men went to investigate the blast toward the south. He then turned to me. ‘Nothing to fret about miss, we’ll be away before they reach us.’

His death was not a surprise. I watched motionless as blood stained the dancing tree, and sat without further astonishment as the poor guard dropped to the floor. Instead I looked at the man who had stood behind him, knife in hand, silent as death himself.

His eyes will forever be my comfort.

I did not even have time to see half a dozen more guards murdered without so much as a breath uttered. Two unfamiliar men then came into view; one dark skinned, the other stocky and grim. The latter began to check the still corpses while the former rushed off towards distant and rapid gunfire. At a nod from my comforter the shorter man followed suit. ‘Can you walk?’ I then heard. He was leaning against the tree, putting his fingers to the smear of blood

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he had painted upon the bark. I should have been shocked to have seen this man, but the eyes I had glimpsed through the trees had prepared me for his coming. Even so I had not quite recovered from that first shock and tested his name on my lips. ‘Lyle?’

‘I believe so my lady.’

‘I had hoped my father would come.’

‘I am sorry to disappoint you,’ Lyle said with the beginnings of a grin. Then he saw Annie. I shook my head and his experiences as a soldier guessed the crude realities of her ailment without me ever having to express their detail. ‘I shall carry her.’

‘She is fragile.’

‘I can be gentle when I need to be Lady Amelia,’ Lyle rebuked lightly. I could not help but utter a retort. ‘Perhaps you might at least sheath your knife and wipe the blood from your face first.’

‘Bathing is not at the top of my priorities at this moment,’ Lyle replied defiantly, though I could not help but notice he sheathed his knife before stepping forward to lift Annie. He did so with such simplicity and grace that I was left momentarily transfixed. He knew I was staring at him and he was enjoying it. He was enjoying rescuing us from our plight. The thought at the time made me mock fury, though now I cannot but feel a sense of gratitude. He looked at me for a brief second, Annie secured carefully in both arms. ‘Not that I would venture to say I am an expert in rescuing young damsels, but I do know that standing still is altogether an unsuitable stratagem when your prince comes to the castle.’

I frowned before following him into the undergrowth. ‘This is neither a castle, and you are definitely not my prince.’

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‘Why ever not?’ Lyle asked cheerfully.

‘Because,’ I replied with some authority, ‘my prince would have brought a horse.’

I expected another quick reply from Lyle, but a further explosion and the cry of gunfire made him stop with a face stern of concentration. ‘Can you run?’ he then asked me seriously, lowering Annie to the floor. I nodded and looked back to where he was staring and there witnessed four quick bullets leave his rifle and hit each of their targets with ruthless efficiency.

I went quite still with fear. ‘Amelia,’ Lyle said quietly, ‘Amelia!’ he added a second time, breaking my nervous trance. I looked at him and for the first time I saw concern enter his eyes, dilating his pupils, before being removed by his usual placid countenance. He helped Annie to her feet and told me to run with her. ‘Run,’ he said quite calmly, ‘run and do not look back!’

We did so, leaving Lyle behind as the gunfire grew louder.

And so four terrible shocks had troubled me that morning. The first had been a comfort, though I must confess I could not believe it when I saw his eyes. Lyle come to rescue me! How could this be? It made little sense to me then, and makes only some sense to me now. He is such a strange man it is hard to think objectively when I am around him. His eyes may comfort me but his history, his character, his appearance; they scare me. He fuels a reaction from me every time he speaks. It is an irritation, but also a fascination. One I am ashamed of, for I cannot forget my dear Henry. Nor will I. However, when I left Lyle I could not help but feel a sense of anxiety. An intangible fear for his wellbeing. Such silly nonsense.

Lest I forget of course for thrice more that morning I was delivered with a terrible shock.

Jacob appearing shocked me and frightened me further, for here is a man more mysterious

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than Lyle. At that time I could not help but feel anger. Clearly betrayal is a hard wound to heal. There is much more to tell of Mr. Hilmai but given the days I have yet to record, I shall write no more. As for Falore, well time will unravel the truths of that tale. It only takes a halfwit to realise my forth shock, the explosions, were merely a diversion for our rescue. I am grateful to all who risked their lives that morning. And morning it is which means I have yet to receive the fifth shock; the worst of them all.

So write on I shall.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Richard’s Letter...

You may ask sister, why a ransom note was sent to Seamus and not the Count? For surely the father would pay for the release of his only daughter! Was the Count that cold-hearted?

Maybe. But even so his hands would have been tied by the empire. His funds were not his own and he owed his lands and title to the Emperor, who in turn controlled his treasury. And in times of war every penny is counted. Regardless of such facts, since the captors had entitled the note to Seamus, they thought that true love would be more persuasive than fatherly love.

But even in their error I believe they were mistaken, for there are things even more powerful and more binding than love. What, I hear you ask? What motives could possibly be more influential than actions born out of love? For a soldier that is a simple answer. Duty.

The priest returned today. My gaoler told him of my past life and the old man looked at me with tears in his eyes. He said he would pray for my soul, pray that I would seek forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? I have done nothing that others would not do.

I have not been able to write for two whole day’s sister, for I had run out of materials.

The boredom of lying still, listening to the dying, listening to the distant drum of artillery, made me feel truly alone. It is now evening and it was a nurse who gave me more parchment to write on. She said Father Teale had sent it. ‘He will give you all that you need,’ she said with a smile. I will not forget the kindness but nor will I turn to his God. Seamus did not speak and looked like a man intent on wielding flames for a funeral pyre when Lyle and I caught up with the four men. Elijah had gone out ahead with his collie while

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Amos found a plant he believed was edible. We were fortunate that the ground we followed was flat and relatively hard. Countless fields belonging to nameless farmers were crossed that night. Rufus smiled at me. ‘The night of nights where our hearts are maimed, will we chance to change our wondrous fate?’

Amos told me we were following one of Elijah’s own trails and that he would bring his sheep here to graze some winters, when the farmers were too busy with their livestock and feed. The night was old and after our third hour I did notice a slow incline and woods showing in the distance. It was then that Elijah returned. ‘They are in the valley over this hill,’ he said with assurance. Seamus, sweating heavily, wiped his brow, before replying. ‘How can you be sure?’

‘I saw fires and heard the chopping of wood. They think they are safe.’

Lyle nodded satisfied. ‘How many?’

‘Cannot say for sure,’ Elijah answered, ‘perhaps seventy.’

‘We still have the night on our side,’ Lyle said, noticing Seamus’s fear. I nodded and put my hand to my friend’s shoulder. ‘And surprise,’ I added. Seamus looked at me then and I think for the first time realised I was carrying my rifle. Surprised, he shook his head. ‘You may have been a Ranger once Lyle but do not let pride blind you from the facts. This venture is folly, we should send for more men.’

‘And give them the chance to escape?’ Lyle asked harshly.

‘Annabel is there Seamus,’ I then said manipulatively, ‘would you pass up the chance to rescue her?’

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I regret tricking my friend then for I am sure Lyle would have let him leave if he so wished. Seamus nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘follow on.’

Elijah set the pace and we reached the summit of the hill, dressed in trees, within the hour. It was still dark so that all we could see was the wispy glow of the fires burning below and stars shining overhead. ‘Confident buggers ain’t they,’ Amos said gruffly. Leaving the others behind I then followed Lyle down the valley to survey our enemy. They never saw us, though we were close enough to count seventy-three men. I saw Amelia and Annabel at the north side in a clearing around a small fire. A heavy guard of sleeping soldiers surrounded them. ‘We’ll have to wake them up,’ Lyle said, producing one of his unsettling smiles. I nodded and we soon returned to our silent camp. Edgy and nervous, Seamus betrayed his impatience by muttering a few words about dawn. The woods were still dark but one could see that the black shadows were slowly turning to grey mists.

‘The sun is awakening,’ Elijah agreed.

‘Sunrise is another two hours yet,’ Amos replied, offering us all the last of his water. Save for Seamus we all had some in reserve. ‘So what’s the plan?’ the stocky cook asked.

‘Rufus will take Seamus to the south and rig three explosions.’

‘You think they’ll fall for that?’ Seamus snapped.

‘They will if they think an army have come into the valley,’ Amos grunted, releasing his pack and offering it to Rufus, ‘plenty of stuff in there to cause a bit of a panic.’

‘Fire will reign and the men will see their pain,’ Rufus versed with a grin, taking the pack and staring at Seamus, ‘we go now.’

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Seamus stood his ground and looked at me for help. My only answer was a quick silent shake of the head. What could I do sister? The plan was not perfect, but nor was it forlorn. But Seamus could not see past his subjective gaze. Lyle after all, killed his brother. That same man now issued a final command. ‘When you have made merry weather and unleashed the Hounds of Gallá, fall back and make for the Parisian Canal.’

‘But that’s at least sixteen miles from here!’ Seamus argued.

‘If you do not like it then leave us,’ Lyle replied, offering Seamus his weapons; a rifle and a short arm. My poor friend stared stubbornly at his foe, swearing silently, before taking back his gunnery after a moment’s pause. ‘Pray tell what is the rest of the plan?’

‘I will rescue the ladies with Amos and Elijah.’

‘What of this one?’ Amos asked inclining his head toward me. Lyle smiled. ‘Jacob shall be paying the camp a visit. Now remember Parisian Canal at Florien Bridge. We must expect a chase so don’t get left behind.’

‘The ladies will never keep up,’ I said rightly. Lyle shrugged. ‘Then we shall carry them if needs be. Now let us go gentleman. Rufus, I shall be waiting for your signal.’

After another short discussion I then found myself strolling down the valley alone.

Walking through the woods, I was making no effort to conceal myself and thought of the soldiers who I would have to kill. My own countrymen. Legosian blood. I would play the traitor and yet a part of me thought of turning Lyle and his men in. I was still the Legosian spy.

And as of yet I had done nothing to aid my country.

I stroked my Handson rifle and felt torn between two loyalties; a loyalty to my country and loyalty to my friend Seamus. I had yet to decide which I would uphold. What would you

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have done sister? The others did not question why I was going to the Legosian camp alone.

One look at me and they knew I was Legosian. Yet surely I had fooled everyone into thinking I was an Armintian sympathiser? Everyone but Lyle of course. That man cannot be fooled sister. Though he can quite easily make everyone else the fool.

I remember in my training a colonel told me never to feel emotion. Feign it yes, but never get attached. Never make friends. And never get too close to your enemy.

My enemy was Armintia and I had gotten too close.

The trees were fluttering in the strong southerly wind that rushed in from the coast.

They were strangely bare. There were no leaves and I suddenly realised the whole wood was devoid of life. Even the bushes were dead. Elijah later told me that the valley was known as the Empty Vale. ‘We shepherds don’t come here for there is no feed in these woods,’ he said calmly. ‘It is said,’ he then continued, ‘that if ever a man strikes an axe at the trees of the dead then they shall suffer death and never leave the Empty Vale.’

Such words rang true that night. For we killed many around the fires.

In that lifeless valley.

A young bright-eyed sentry saw me first, aiming his rifle and calling out the password for the night. I lowered my rifle and raised my right arm to show him I meant no harm. Within seconds two more sentries came from the trees. I had seen them further up the track but pretended surprise at their appearance. Under guard I was then shown into the camp, and there I told the sentry I needed to talk to his commanding officer at once. I spoke with such authority that he went to find his captain without hesitation. The sentry then came back and nodded. ‘Captain de Poole will see you now.’

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‘De Poole?’ I said surprised, ‘Ulysses?’

‘Aye that’s right, and he can get mighty tetchy at night,’ the sentry replied. I smiled.

‘Lead on.’ I followed my escort further into the camp and walked past both Amelia and Annabel. The pair were awake but I did not look at them, instead I created an air of cold hostility as an old ugly officer greeted me. I glanced at Amelia then and saw her staring at me.

My eyes presented indifference but my heart was taken at that moment. No longer could I call it my own.

De Poole introduced himself in a humble and polite manner as we walked further on into the camp. I let him ask the questions first before putting my hand round him and smiling. ‘If we could have a private word captain?’

‘Whatever you have to say you can do so in front of my men,’ de Poole replied gesturing to the soldiers who were stirring from their sleep. ‘You are a long way from home my friend.’

I nodded. ‘I sought to find my mill house.’

De Poole paused and looked at me shrewdly. ‘Very well,’ he then said at length, ‘we shall have our privacy.’ Perhaps sister, I should tell you something of our calling as Knights. When out in the field we have an emergency watchword that we must memorise for each day of the year. The word on that fateful day was ‘mill house’. It was meant to tell the commanding officer present, who guards the password in question as closely a mistress in an officer’s mess, that I am a friend and an important one at that. I was impressed that de Poole knew the parole by heart, but then he was an interesting character back home. And a famous soldier, though I had never met him before.

‘Who are you?’ de Poole asked when we were alone.

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I hesitated. ‘My name here is Jacob Hilmai, I am a Knight of Legosia.’

‘Then that is all I need to know friend.’

I smiled. ‘You were a Knight once?’

‘Many years ago, yes.’

‘Then what I have to say should not surprise you. The two women in your care are somewhat important to my operations.’

De Poole shifted uneasily. ‘A general of Legosia asked specifically for Loff’s daughter Jacob.’

‘And you know the password I’ve told you gives me tactical and overall authority on all matters?’

De Poole nodded hesitantly. ‘Still I would like to verify your authenticity before simply handing them over.’

‘Then call Marshal Roush, or my Order, for they are the only men who know my whereabouts. I have been here for months and I have only just begun to earn their trust. Lady Amelia is important to me; you can keep the other girl if you wish,’ I lied, noticing the bruises on Annabel’s face.

De Poole shook his head. ‘No, no she’s worthless now. My lieutenant took a liking to her last night and ravaged her good. Got him under guard now, silly arse. My only lieutenant too.

What a preposterous signal that sends to the men!’

‘Probably a rich bugger who leeches off his father.’

‘The very one,’ de Poole said with a smile. He paused and put an arm round me. ‘How do I know you are trustworthy? I’ve known resourceful men to acquire the parole in the past.’

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‘Honour is that which brings those that fall.’

‘Striketh down all who call.’

‘Return to the dark, the Knights of old.’

De Poole laughed. ‘All ancient gibberish, it isn’t even an accurate translation,’ he added scratching his backside. I nodded. ‘But gibberish only a Knight can know –’ ‘Since,’ de Poole continued, ‘that is what he chants at the end of his oath.’

It is strange how fate works. I may well have spun another web if the circumstances had been different, but the fact de Poole was once a Knight meant I knew he would trust me in the end. It meant I could be honest with him. In my mind I had yet to betray Legosia.

‘So then,’ de Poole said to me, ‘how are you going to do this?’

‘First I shall give you some false information,’ I said, ‘Falore has fallen to Legosia.’

‘Did you say Falore has fallen to Legosia?’ de Poole repeated in a raised voice, his ugly face stretched with a wide grin. I nodded. He clearly knew what he was doing. ‘Then I must warn you your men will come under attack.’ I shouldn’t have told him that, for the element of surprise was lost. But I did not have the heart to fool this man entirely. Looking back sister, it seems that one weakness embodies my predicament; I do not have the heart of a Knight. But then there is no true test for such things. I fooled myself as well as those who instructed me.

De Poole looked affronted. ‘When?’

I paused and in that hesitation heard a large explosion to the south. Rufus was right on time. And panic followed two more explosions. De Poole turned to me frantically. ‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘but before I go tell your superiors that the rainy season is coming. You will need boats if you want to defeat the Legosian army. They have very little in reserve now Falore is under

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attack,’ I said walking towards the fire and smoke. I could also hear gunfire, something not lost on de Poole. His face spoke of concern for his men. At that point I knew I had not truly turned my back on Legosia. ‘If you wish to chase us,’ I said slowly, playing my last trusty card, ‘then head for the Parisian Canal. Perhaps you could send your lieutenant?’

De Poole grinned.

And then I hit him. For the rescue had begun.

That morning I felt like the Legosian spy. De Poole’s men had seen me hit their officer and raised their weapons only to watch me vanish into the trees. They chased me and I killed my first Legosian that day. I did it, justifying it in my head, that I must seem like the enemy. De Poole would trust me I knew.

Running with that sickening feeling of death chasing me, I fled toward the south, hearing the occasional bullet wisp by, but scurrying always into the inferno of the pretend battle orchestrated by Rufus and Seamus. I know sister that you have no knowledge of battle so I shall tell you what it feels to be in one, even if it is small.

It is the noise that is forever present. That sound of a rifle discharged, a mortar fired, a grenade thrown. Men shrieking, dying, calling commands, panicking. The explosion will shake you, the crying man haunt you. And then there is the blood. Too much blood and too much death. Even on that morning, when we six men fought seventy, there was blood. Blood for the enemy. And blood for us.

Slowing now, I crept round the periphery of the slaughter, watching as Rufus and Seamus, like ghosts, fired shot after shot into the exposed Legosian camp. They soon took cover

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but we had the higher ground and the element of surprise. I knew though, that it would not be long until the Legosian troopers would realise their deception and unleash a counterattack. For a brief moment I thought I saw Seamus in the darkness. Morning had not yet come and it was that reason above any other that aided us that night.

Hidden in the dead foliage I soon felt a presence ascend on me. It is hard to describe to you in words the feeling we few get when someone is close by. I turned slowly, raising my rifle to see Lyle crouched low. ‘Where are Amelia and Annabel?’ I asked concerned. Lyle grinned. ‘Safe Jacob. Willis is protecting them.’

‘Elijah’s dog?’ I replied surprised. Lyle nodded. ‘Of course, there is none quicker and none so fierce in the dark of night. And besides, nobody is following them. I made sure of that.’

‘Where are Elijah and Amos?’

‘Aiding Rufus and Seamus in this mirage. I am here to lend moral support,’ he mocked. I shrugged. ‘They’re wising to the situation.’

‘And so they should,’ Lyle replied, ‘but I ordered Amos and Elijah to target serjeants or officers only. They’ll be leaderless and scattered for a time. But less of the chatter Jacob. Let us aid our fellow conspirators.’

None saw us creep up the valley. We moved quickly and quietly, making sure nobody could follow. When we had reached a suitable position we fired a few accurate shots before continuing on our way. Never would we stay in the same position for fear of exposure. At the top, covered by a thick clustering of trees, we circled round until we were sure of safety. Lyle turned to me then. ‘How much does Seamus love Annabel?’ he asked slowly. He opened his waterskin and drank sparingly. I shrugged. ‘It is a silent love,’ I replied, ‘she is married.’

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‘I know,’ Lyle said, ‘she is married to Governor Rheese, but that was not my question.’

I paused. Seamus loved Annabel like our father loved mother, sister. It breaks my heart to think such love could not bring them together. ‘He loves her more than life itself.’

‘Poisonous isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

Lyle leaned forward to glimpse toward the killing ground. ‘Love,’ he answered, ‘it is a poison, a disease. An addictive drug. It will kill him.’

‘Be careful not to be infected then,’ I warned, half hoping he would take my light advice seriously. He shook his head suddenly. ‘Annabel was raped.’

‘I know, de Poole told me.’

‘We should not tell Seamus,’ Lyle said seriously. I nodded. ‘He will find out when he sees her.’ At that I heard another mortar drop above the tree line. It is an unmistakable noise sister, that of a whistle flying through the air, growing faster until the inevitable explosion. The Legosian troopers had some light mortars and were using them well. ‘I think we should be going,’ Lyle then said, scrambling along a screen of trees before descending down so that the gunfire and explosions, now not as frequent, grew louder. We met Amos tying a torn piece of clothing around his arm. ‘Lucky shot,’ he said on greeting.

‘News?’ Lyle asked quickly.

‘They’re inching forward. I’d say twenty of the buggers are down but they’re growing more confident now. Think they’ve realised we’re no army. Rufus and Elijah are following the trail of the women.’

‘Good,’ Lyle replied, ‘then go yourself. We’ll cover the flank.’

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‘Where’s Seamus?’ I asked Amos before he left. The stocky killer shrugged. ‘Rufus saw him last, try further down.’

I looked at Lyle. ‘He should have left with Rufus.’

‘If you want to look for him I shall wait,’ Lyle then said languidly, ‘but do not waste too much of our precious time. The sun will rise soon and then we’ll all be buggered.’

I nodded and quickly left Lyle, sliding further down the ridge, keeping the trees as my cover. I looked for Seamus then for more than fifteen long minutes and found nothing. Each tree covering was empty and every minute I wasted the enemy grew with confidence.

A mortar shell landed close by and only the trees saved me from death. I shook myself and looked down. The Legosian troopers had finally stubbed out their fires, so that now we only had the stars to see them that night. I wondered whether de Poole had recovered consciousness yet, and hoped he had, for a leaderless band of soldiers – many whose friends had been slain – are a bloodthirsty, remorseless group. There would be no mercy for those that were left behind. Not if de Poole was dead himself, or injured. For I did not reckon on his lieutenant being so cordial. If his lieutenant had raped Annabel, like de Poole had said, then he was better off dead. Though a part of me hoped he lived. And that I would meet him.

It is hard to impart sister the feeling I had that morning. I was frantically trying to find my friend and yet as every minute past knew my chances were slowly diminishing with the wind.

And then the rain came. Amos had been adamant it would earlier that night and he was not disappointed. It came in streams, gushing down the valley with a vigour and ferocity befitting that bloody night in the Empty Vale. It instantly soaked my tunic and soon turned

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the ground underfoot treacherous. Lyle would like it I know, for it would aid in our escape, but for now I wished it to stop. Thunder roared like a mighty giant awakened and then large sheets of lightening reigned over the sky. One moment there had been stars and then the wind had brought cloud. And the cloud had brought a storm.

As I crept still further down I knew I would soon meet a Legosian and watched as two crept up the ridge. Clearly the decision had been made to clear the vale. No longer did they think we were a large foe. I waited, putting my rifle around my shoulder and unsheathing my knife. I watched them come and saw them slide and scatter up the slippery slope. I could not guarantee two kills in such weather and found myself praying to whatever god would hear me, to keep me safe – to keep my footing true. I saw them come, oblivious of my presence, for I was a mere shadow, but kill them I did not sister. For that honour went to Lyle. I heard two distinct gunshots that drove straight into the two soldiers, the bullets striking both between the eyes.

I then looked up the hill and saw Lyle appear, waving his rifle toward the Legosian camp in mockery. They saw him I know, for large cries were heard and I quickly edged away and hid in a crevice as half a dozen men ascended the ridge in pursuit of Lyle. In pursuit of certain death.

I waited for what seemed an endless wet and miserable age. I waited until I could hear voices no more and came from my hiding, drenched in mud and rain. I peered down the slope and saw perhaps thirty men, now stepping from the cover of trees back into the open camp. I took my rifle and aimed at one, a corporal. It was grey now, for the sun was slowly rising.

But I was well hidden. They were not.

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The corporal died before he hit the ground, a bullet to the heart. The troopers scattered then and I killed four more before my enemy were hidden. I still did not see de Poole and as long as I was unsure of his health I knew we could not be pursued by such men.

With the trees as my cover I moved to my second place of hiding and waited. A few stray shots were fired, but they were hopeful bullets lost in the rain. I targeted another corporal, shooting him dead and in reply several shots retaliated in my direction. They were not completely useless, and so I crouched for cover before silently moving toward a large felled tree. It provided the perfect hiding place, and scrambling over one of the branches I checked my pack for ammunition. As I finished counting I turned back and jumped in horror. For facing me under the cover of the tree was a maimed foot. A maimed foot soaked in the rain.

Looking closely I could see that an explosion had torn it from the victim’s leg. I shook my head, inspecting the singed and bloody boot, but the mud and rain made it hard to identify anything else. ‘Seamus?’ I then uttered, my voice lost in the rain, ‘Seamus!’ I shouted this time, for whom else could it be?

I thought I heard a groan then and crawled over the felled tree toward a muddy bank. On rolling down I found him. I found Seamus propped against a tree, with his eyes closed.

‘Seamus,’ I said slowly and moved toward him. As I did he raised his rifle in alarm. ‘It’s me Seamus!’

‘Jacob,’ he groaned, opening an eye to see me through the rain, ‘why are you here?’

‘For you of course.’

‘You should have left.’

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‘I can’t without you,’ I said, trying in vain to lift him. He pushed me off and as he did a bullet wisped over my head. I sank down and looked at him, his left leg bloody and maimed. I could see a tear in his eye. ‘Annabel, Amelia?’

His voice was filled with pain, but I knew I must give him this last hope. ‘They are safe Seamus. And you will be too.’

‘Do not be a fool Jacob, they have seen you, leave me be, you cannot carry me.’

‘They will kill you.’

‘I shall leave that decision to the gods,’ Seamus groaned. ‘Now go.’

I gazed at my friend and grasped his hand. ‘I am sorry,’ I found myself saying.

Then I heard voices and I scrambled up a mound with bullets striking the mud behind me. When I was sure I was hidden I watched as three Legosian troopers found Seamus. One turned round, scanning the hill in hope that he would see the sharpshooter who’d escaped.

When I saw his face I gasped in relief. There is not a more ugly man in the whole of Legosia. And after our brief meeting, I was sure there is not a man more virtuous. He gave the order to his two men to pick Seamus up and when he was quite alone I was convinced he saw me then. I could not be certain, but my eyes remained still as Ulysses de Poole nodded at me before turning his back. I knew that he would give the order soon. The order to give chase.

The chase to Parisian Canal.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extracts from Turncoat…

‘He’s gone then,’ I said staring at Roark one evening, our champion gazing into the strikingly vibrant horizon. The sun was setting and painted the sky with an incalculable amount of vivacious and effervescent colours. It is often our lot in life to feel small at the sight of such wonders. We were mere smears in a large unforgiving land. An instantly sobering land. A land in which we were outlaws to a despotic and repressive empire.

One must realise his mortality when wonders, such as the sun, have yet to be truly realised. Hundreds of years ago a haughty old philosopher believed this world was a flatshaped square and the sun a simple ball of light created and re-created each day by an anthropomorphic being living in the heavens. For years Armintia believed this to be so until a scientist called Abgard pointed out that the sun moved around the world. Writing in his book

The World and Sun he penned, ‘emphasis must be placed on ‘around’ – it is a word to describe a circular motion which only leads me to think the world is round like the sun. The sun thus goes round a circular planet.’ The emperor’s physicists now believe it is the world that orbits the sun. But such a theory does not explain why there is night or day. It would surely mean a part of this land was forever in darkness?

These were my thoughts and more that warm and lonely evening. At least they were until we heard Nelson shout a warning.

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‘He’s gone then,’ I said again, this time loud enough for Roark to hear. He finally nodded and turned to me. His eyes were empty and his face personified the passive and brazen nature we had all come to know in our champion. ‘I knew he would,’ he then said quietly.

There was a brief pause as we stood and marvelled at the coming night, anticipating the dark starlit sky. ‘Then why take him?’ Eli asked thoughtfully.

‘My uncle was a rat catcher,’ Roark replied suddenly, turning with a sullen glare, ‘he always told me the best way to catch a rat was to set it a trap. And the only way to set a trap is to provide some bait. Let him think he has won,’ Roark added quietly, as was his way.

‘Could have warned me,’ Nelson grunted, who had been struck on the head during the escape, ‘got a lump forming like a melon on me noggin.’

‘Morcam will look at it,’ Roark answered unmoved by our poor friend’s plight.

‘The doctor’s fretting on the account of all the alcohol been drunk,’ Nelson replied, rubbing his head moodily. Our champion shrugged. ‘The deception was necessary. I had to let him believe he was accepted. And now he will lead me to the rat.’

‘You always knew he was rotten fruit?’ I asked.

‘For a time.’

‘Sensed it too of course,’ Eli grunted, ‘always thought he was a shifty looking bugger.’

‘So you don’t want us to follow?’ Nelson asked.

Roark shrugged. ‘You and Eli will make a bad job of it and then find us,’ he answered with a spit. He turned to us with dark merciless eyes. ‘I’ve falsely given the man a time and a place for an important meeting. If he takes the bait then we’ll have ourselves a little killing to do.’

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‘How civilised,’ Morcam grunted from the fire. And it was thus that Moera, the man with one ear, absconded.

He had been a quiet man on our travels, no more a hindrance than he was a help. His company was like that of many who followed Roark; rough and silent. I had thought him a good lieutenant, but our champion knew better!

Such was the ailing sun that we turned to the fire and spoke little, listening instead to the doctor’s curses. Water was not for him. Atop a ridge we were, looking down onto the flat deserts. A fire was lit for we alone were here in the wilderness; we and the beasts that made this land their own. Cracked and dry, I was not surprised that this place had forgone the rains that had overwhelmed the rest of the land. Such was the heat that night.

‘So,’ Eli grunted after returning with Nelson and confirming that Moera had indeed set out for Onis. He fidgeted with a stick and paused in an effort to understand. ‘Who is the rat?’

Roark’s eyes peered at him, a soulless, listless stare. I could not decide whether this man was incessantly tired, his very mind consumed by a secret desire to stop running, or whether Roark knew his end and would not face it. Was he running from his shadows? I knew he had a secret, for it was eating at him every day. Draining such life out of him that some days he no longer looked like he was living. He was dying in whatever secret he held. ‘Someone who hunts me,’ he then answered after we were all left listening to the crackling flicker of the fire.

I saw the stars then and felt so insignificant that night. I also knew the significance of Roark’s words. For he did not include his fellow comrades in his statement. Whatever demon that haunted him would not stretch its arm to lesser beings.

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‘We should have just tortured the bugger,’ Eli replied. Nelson nodded, his head still a little sore. ‘Tortured him then killed him.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed in a fit of facetious mockery, ‘because then it would be so much easier to find the rat.’

‘You silly brigands still talking rats eh?’ Morcam grunted, his mood not particularly pleasurable since draining his last bottle of wine some days ago. ‘It’s a mystery how I survive with such company. You know there was a time I could talk to intellectuals at my own whim.

Now I’m stuck with a group of vagabonds who refer to people as rats and build fires in a desert.

What geniuses we have!’

‘The fire and light keeps the creatures and insects away,’ Nelson pointed out.

‘Clearly you don’t know the inner brain of a fly my silly friend,’ Morcam replied harshly, ‘for a fly likes nothing more than the light of a flame, it might even be tempted to brave the heat, such is the stupidity of some lesser creatures. However, the smoke it cannot bear and it is the smoke which will stop one of those blasted bloodsuckers from feasting on you tonight.’

‘I’ve not been bitten,’ Nelson said, instantly regretting it. Morcam looked at him and scowled. ‘Well then you must have bad blood, rotten know doubt, but then you are a bastard!’

‘That’s enough,’ Roark snapped in a way that did not require him to raise his voice. We all turned to him and nodded. ‘Is the rat Croft?’ I inquired logically. Roark shook his head.

‘Croft is no rat, nor could I provide bait to lure him into a trap.’

‘Why? He daft enough to walk into one of his own doing?’ Eli asked with a wiry grin.

‘Croft was taken by Legosian troopers some days ago. By all accounts he won’t be doing any walking for a while,’ Roark replied.

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‘How did you find that out when we’ve been all alone for days now?’ Nelson asked.

‘I have friends that live on the land,’ Roark replied shiftily. Morcam spat. ‘Shepherd friends more like. They send him messages at night. Make a racket too. If you weren’t so dependent on sleep you’d probably hear the scoundrels. However, that’s one thing my father told me which I am grateful for. Or was it my grandfather? I honestly cannot remember,’ Morcam added, staring intently into the fire, ‘not that it matters,’ he continued quite earnestly with a smile. ‘The advice he gave me was this, never offend or appear to offend, or indeed think of offending a flock of shepherds.’

‘You mean sheep?’ Eli corrected. I looked at the doctor then for I had been taught the fable of the shepherds. Morcam explained it well, even if his abominable arrogance irked the uncomplicated creature that was Eli. ‘No,’ the former piped looking aghast, ‘if I’d meant sheep I would have definitely enunciated the fact. Clearly you were brought up with little education; either that or your parents mentally abused and ignored you. Which I might add, by assessing your mannerisms, could well be true. And before you hit me,’ Morcam added, watching Eli rise, ‘mental abuse is quite common among…well…the common folk. Education shunned for hunting or something unseemly know doubt.’ I smiled. Of course Morcam was close to the truth for Eli was raised in the forests, a hunter like his father. He was easily the best shot in the gang. In fact given the egotistical nature of masculinity I was surprised our hunter did not swank and boast about such a skill. Loud and foul mouthed was Eli, but ever modest. I often wondered whether such characteristics were a façade for Roark trusted him in the same manner Lyle did Rufus.

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Mysterious how friendships form. How trust is earned. How dependence is craved. We people were not meant to live alone. Something Morcam highlighted in his usual underhand way. ‘Problem with hunters is they spend too much time with beasts and not enough time with humans. Eventually they forget how to speak,’ Morcam explained, grinning at Eli. ‘Usually it begins by appearing to remember only the vulgar usages in our language, reciting them time and again without the brain even processing such information.’

By this point of course it was only Roark’s hand that stayed Eli’s wrath. ‘Just ignore him,’ Nelson ventured, trying to placate his friend. After a moment’s struggle our victim finally relented. Spitting on the fire his response was rather academic, the first words to be spoken in fact, since the doctor’s little expose on social and linguistic differences. ‘Irritating son of a bitch,’ he mumbled. Of course the doctor then acclaimed delight at Eli proving his point but by then I had detached myself from the altercation.

Nelson had worked the old man out. ‘Eli isn’t blind is he?’ he asked rather bravely, given Morcam’s mood for mischief among his intellectual inferiors. The botanist grinned. ‘He could have kept these you know,’ he said, fiddling with his glasses, ‘for it is only a matter of time before his eyesight does eventually fail him. And we can’t wait for time to stop.’

‘So why did you insist on pestering Eli so?’ I asked stirring. Morcam’s grin extended itself so that his entire face was hidden behind an elaborate show of teeth. ‘Merely a psychological experiment to satisfy my own boredom on this unseemly trip.’

‘What’s a hunter without his eyes,’ Roark then said, sitting quite still and refraining from catching our apprehensive glances. Morcam laughed. A quite pedantic sort of a chuckle that made those around him understand what it meant to feel the true nature of self-control.

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With this I decided that perhaps sleep would be better suited. Of course the irritant doctor, starved of his alcohol, had a very different proposal. ‘So let me educate you,’ Morcam said gleefully.

‘Don’t need no educating,’ Eli grunted, polishing the stock of his rifle – handmade I later learned. Morcam shook his head. ‘My dear friend I was simply going to suggest a bed time story before we all retire for the night.’

Eli looked to Nelson in the unsteady assurance that his character was not being defiled in some clever instance of mockery. Roark at this point had closed his eyes, though no doubt he was listening, for he seldom slept and when he did it was with one eye open.

‘You do want to know about the shepherds don’t you?’

Eli gave the doctor a quizzical stare before nodding. ‘Never saw a shepherd in the forests.’

‘Not exactly the right land for such business,’ Morcam said, ‘but even so the flock of shepherds is an Onis fable that is quite famous throughout the empire. Famous because fable it is not.’

*

*

*

Richard’s Letter...

As I stare looking at a wilting flower, a token of one’s love, I cannot help but feel contempt.

Love is ever consuming, sister. If I had known it to be so invasive I would never have yielded my heart to it, nor my soul. It is like a parasite unable to find peace. It tears your insides until you can bear it no longer. The pain is great. Unending and unbearable pain. The shadow of

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love is not for the weak, nor the elderly. It is only for those strong of heart. Close your eyes but for a second and it will strike you down. Succumb to it and you will forever be its slave. I am that dead flower, all happiness drained away.

Love can make you take life; can turn you from man to monster. It will haunt your dreams and invade even those most cherished of thoughts. There is none other like it, none other so fearsome, none other so infectious, none other so poisonous. And for it we monsters killed.

It was the Old Hermit of Moercia who knew of the story regarding the lands that stretched forth towards the Canal. At least according to Elijah it was. He said that once there was a great river that ran through the valley. And perhaps he was right for I had heard of the marvels and tales of Eccelston Gorge and even saw that great winding ravine as we fled from the Empty Vale. In the days of giants and heroes he spoke of the River Prince, a great warrior who held sway over all the lands that stretched forth from the river. Such was the power of the River Prince that those that sailed on the waterway without his command perished in the depths of his domain. Elijah told me that story weeks after our current predicament. I tell it now because lives were lost and blood was shed on the River Prince’s land.

The rain streamed down. Such was its rage that we thought the heavens themselves had opened up never to reign again. We saw no signs of the sun even though morning had broken and the night creatures had left us. Mist rolled in from evergreen hills to the north so that for a while we treaded carefully, making sure we did not get lost. After a time we found Amos squatting next to a stream. We made to take our fill but he shook his head. ‘Spoiled.’

‘A dead sheep?’ I ventured.

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‘No shepherds roam these lands,’ Amos replied shaking his head. Lyle looked to his friend. ‘You think it the River Prince?’

‘He does not want us here tainting his soil,’ Amos grunted. I frowned for it was the first I had heard of the legend and scowled at their superstition and said so with a spit that earned a rasping glare from Amos. Lyle pattered me on the shoulder. ‘Let’s find the others,’ he said hoarsely and pointed to the sky.

After drinking our fill of rainwater we soon picked up Elijah’s trail and knew that such tracks were easy to hunt, even in this precipitation. The track we followed was an ancient one, dominated by the shaking leaves of ferns and bracken. They drooped as if saddened by the rain. I could not but help feel a tightness in my gut after witnessing such a gloomy sight.

That path reminds me of the meaningless meandering of life. The tame resistance to the elements. At this point sister a nurse glimpsed my words and now worries I am suffering from the Sad Thoughts. Depression is a lurking knife ready to strike at the most inopportune times.

Its sister is Love, which stabs until the hilt is covered in the blood of a dying heart. I feel the empty and lonely existence of time and weep – wishing my life would end. For what else can bring happiness but death?

Such thoughts rarely lurked inside me then. For I had hope and was free of intoxication – though the walls would soon be breached forever.

Lyle stared at me and lifted a hand to signal that we should stop. In its mercy the rain had eased over the last two miles. And with it we heard screams. Amos frowned. ‘They drank from the stream instead of taking from the sky.’

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‘They are close then,’ I said turning to gaze through the mist. Amos shrugged, even though my reply had not taken the form of a question. ‘I shall see how close,’ he grunted and left us without another word. Lyle turned to me and smiled. ‘Such weather favours us in a hunt.’

‘Yet they still track us.’

‘I do not pretend to know the games of the River Prince.’

I rolled my eyes. For then I did not believe. And perhaps there is no such thing. But nothing else can atone for what happened that day. We followed the trail on, which slowly veered towards a low colony of woodland foothills, themselves mere children and guardians to the Great Mountains further to the north. Lyle told me that west of the foothills, stretching forth for many eternal miles, were the colossal Plains of Armintia. A vast and forgotten place where the ancient hermits of Moercia dwelt. Such geography awes and interests me, but at that time I could only think of Seamus. Seamus and Amelia. For I worried this weather would be the death of her and her friend. And I wept silently for mine own.

It was after skirting the periphery of the foothills that we picked up the tracks of Elijah, Rufus and the two unfortunate ladies. Even in the rain the broken leaves and ground, disturbed by fleeing foot, was unmistakable. We followed their trail further into the woods until we reached a path that slanted in such a way that meant to our left we were faced with wild bush and bracken, and to our right we stood atop a steep drop, whereby the natural growth of a looming presence in the guise of many brave slanting trees climbed up nature’s ridge. It was there where we heard the bark of a dog and minutes later saw Rufus carefully approach us further down this treacherous path.

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He smiled when he saw us and embraced Lyle like one would a brother. ‘Elijah’s hound told us friends had come and yet behind our foes still run.’

‘Amos counts their number,’ Lyle replied.

The poet nodded then turned and quickly skipped further up the path. We followed without thought, trailing in silence as Rufus took a fork in the track, turning up so higher still we went, with the great grey wooded tree our closest friend. ‘Grey King we call them,’ Lyle said, speaking of the trees, ‘grey because they are old, sad and the colour of rampant clouds; king because tall and majestic they are.’

‘My friend remembers my verse,’ Rufus sang, running along without fear. Lyle grunted.

‘Paraphrasing my friend; though you seem to have a song or a poem for every mood, plant, tree or being.’ He turned back to me with a puff. ‘My brother swears Rufus never sleeps for his constant verse.’

Lyle’s brother! I said not a word yet the mention of Roark quite startled me, for it was a reminder of what road I had taken and who these two brothers were. Or at least what I thought they were. Could I trust them? Could I trust Lyle? They were killers, perhaps even murders. But then, what was I if not both? Regardless of my concern the following days certainly answered my silent questions.

As the track levelled out again, peering above the lower path, we reached a cluster of thick ancient aglæ bushes – a distant relation of holly, yet taller and mightier. There in the hiding sat Amelia and Annabel, shivering amid the rain despite the natural enclosure the aglæ made. Elijah was nowhere to be seen but wagging his tail, guarding the den sat Willis, happy to see us safe. I gazed at Amelia and saw that Annabel was clutching close to her. Both of their

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garments were sodden, and hair drenched. Annabel still betrayed the scars of the previous night. Neither looked happy to see us. ‘This is how you planned our rescue then?’ Amelia grunted, her teeth chattering in the cold. She stared at and indeed accused the both of us in this. Lyle looked at me amused. ‘Planning had nothing to do with it, did it Jacob?’

‘You mean to say you don’t have a plan?’ Amelia asked shocked. Her eyes shot to me in the hope that I might offer her hope. I shrugged. ‘Why make plans when it is likely nothing will happen the way one intends or indeed wishes.’

‘But surely –’ ‘Our direction is Parisian Canal,’ Lyle revealed interrupting Amelia dismissively. I bent down and saw the attempt of a fire. I was sure Elijah knew such a luxury was pointless given the present weather, but no doubt Amelia insisted that he or Rufus should at least try. As for the poet, he had made it a matter of duty to stand guard outside. I wondered if the high-strung nature of these two women actually irked Lyle’s unflappable friend. ‘Cold were you?’ I asked acerbically, looking to the fire and then Amelia. She scowled at me but I ignored her for I was angry and surprised at her ungracious response in light of her rescue. ‘The Canal is many miles away from here,’ Lyle continued, ‘but it is imperative that you two ladies keep to our pace.’

‘I have blisters like boils and Annie is in no shape to move.’

‘Then leave her to get raped again,’ I said harshly and instantly regretted it, earning a poisonous glance from Amelia and a whimper from Annabel. I shook my head, though it was Lyle who apologised for my behaviour. ‘Forgive my companion ladies for in rescuing you we lost a friend dear to Jacob’s heart.’ I saw Annabel’s eyes turn to glass at that for she knew there was but one man Lyle was speaking of. When I uttered Seamus’s name the glass shattered and

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silent tears flowed from her eyes. I closed my own for a second, unable to bear her grief. No words can ever do justice to the spectacle of that poor woman sister. I shiver at the memory even now. The sorrow I felt matched my helplessness and guilt.

I opened them again hesitantly, wishing I could be swallowed up in a blanket of fog.

Instead my eyes widened through rain and tears to rest on Amelia, who looked as pale as a winter morning. Stroking her friend’s hair she bravely asked what had happened. Reciting the facts without striving for detail, I sniffed before shaking my head angrily. They should not see me like this, I remember feeling. Lyle should not see me like this for I was a Knight of Legosia and was taught to overcome the pain of fallen comrades in battle. ‘He may not be dead, for de Poole is a good man and respects the rules of war, as well as the laws of morality.’

Amelia flinched. ‘You know our erstwhile captor?’

I bowed my head. ‘Only by reputation. Though in my past life I knew many brilliant men.’

Amelia then smiled. It was a sad smile, but one which spoke of understanding and reached her eyes in a personal response that was intended for me only. That look made my heart pine. The fire inside had woken anew. It sparked more so when she humbly apologised.

‘You are brave men,’ she said quietly, ‘and I thank you both with the fullness of my heart. I shall never forget this kindness.’

‘We are merely doing a gentleman’s service,’ Lyle answered, brushing the apology aside.

Amelia shrugged. ‘Even so I shall never forget what you two and your friends have done this day. You risked all without thought of your own lives.’

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‘Nonsense,’ Lyle grunted, embarrassed at such words, ‘I thought a great deal about my own life before deciding to help.’

‘Ha! And here I was thinking you rescued us like the heroes of old, with a brave and unconditional heart,’ Amelia shot back haughtily. Her wall of emotion was no longer susceptible to escalade. Lyle spat. ‘You might say brave when I think reckless. I do value my own life on occasions my lady. Though there is no condition set for your rescue. You might look at Jacob and I and think mercenaries but deep down we are caring, loving and handsome men. Gentleman I might even venture to hope.’

‘Vultures,’ she grunted, rising to Lyle’s bait. I laughed mockingly. ‘Vultures who have rescued you from the crows.’ I was kneeling down whetting my knife when I said this and Amelia soon pounced upon the fact. ‘You’re like the rest of them. Monsters.’ How true her words rang. I looked at her with vicious eyes. How could a lady go from being so thankful to so spiteful in a flutter of words? I reasoned that this experience was frightening but such an excuse did nothing to lessen my tongue. ‘Clearly then you meant nothing of what you said before milady. Next time I’ll let you escape yourself!’

‘Next time! Are you suggesting Mr. Hilmai that there will be a next time? Are you by some way inferring that because I am a woman I will forever be plagued by the curse of capture?’

‘What I am saying my lady,’ I grunted, stressing those last two words with gritted teeth, ‘is that you are the daughter of a Count and a beautiful one at that and so will always be a prize worth snatching in the eyes of your father’s enemies!’

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‘High praise indeed Jacob!’ Lyle barbed, enjoying my plight, ‘and rather amusing since I am one such enemy.’ He grinned and shook his head. ‘But let us not be curt –’ ‘You think me rude!’ Amelia began but was interrupted by my mocking laugh. I looked at her then, my heart thumping against my chest, like the drums of old before battle commenced.

‘I think you confused, lonely perhaps,’ I said forcefully, ‘but not rude, how could I, or we,’ I said glancing at Lyle, ‘think Lady Amelia, daughter to Count Loff of Fiojn, rude?’ There was silence. ‘Don’t flatter yourself by thinking we risked our lives saving you,’ I then grunted in heated bravado, ‘for we are monsters remember and do not fright easily.’

Lyle made to say something but thought better of it after witnessing Amelia’s scowl.

Indeed it was some minutes before there was a break to the constant roll of the wind and rain above, and it came from Lady Amelia. She breathed heavily and shook her head. ‘I must confess Jacob,’ she said wistfully, using my Birth Name unwittingly, or so I thought, ‘you are not the same man that presented himself to my father all those months ago. You have quite the tongue when provoked. I shall have to learn to tread carefully henceforth.’

Lyle glanced at me mischievously. He was enjoying this and perhaps would have replied if it wasn’t for a great roar from the skies. Annabel jumped and I frowned at the noise, standing as if that would guard against the storm. I have never heard thunder like it sister; it was like a great cymbal rasping the skies, striking a terrible note and heralding the End Song. For I was sure the heavens themselves had been torn asunder. Rain leaked through our little shelter and we were saved from the shock of another roar when Amos appeared after a shrill bark from Willis. He grunted that the dog should shut his trap then laughed when he saw the attempt of

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a fire. ‘Buggers are close, perhaps a mile away. Eight in all and headed by a lieutenant. Scruffy old lot they look.’

My eyes gleamed. So de Poole had sent Asdur. The revelation was not lost on the women either. ‘He’s the one that…’ Amelia stopped and glanced to Annabel who was too frightened to speak. I looked at her and nodded. ‘I know.’

‘It’s men like him that give us a bad name you know,’ Lyle said eyeing me thoughtfully. I couldn’t help but nod, even though I was shocked at the lightness of his statement. He shook his head. ‘Amos you will lead the women further up the track, take the dog. We shall follow when it is appropriate.’

‘Shouldn’t have lingered so long,’ I put in unhelpfully. Amos ignored me. ‘What about Elijah?’

‘I’m sure he will do what he sees fit when he returns from wherever he has gone,’ Lyle replied. Amos shrugged. ‘He’s stood with Rufus, has been for some time.’

Lyle nodded with a knowing grin. ‘The shepherd can go with you. Leave the poet with Jacob and me.’

In a matter of seconds Amelia and Annabel were forced to stand and Amos ushered them outside with Willis the dog following at the rear. The rain was like thousands of whipping serpents biting at the skin. And the thunder still roared. Lyle looked at me expectantly. ‘Are you ready to be a monster?’ he said calmly.

I growled. ‘What do you have in mind?’

We stepped from the shelter like wolves ready to feed. And feed we did sister, though in all conscience I will not retell what happened to those poor unfortunate men or what death we

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gave to Lieutenant Asdur. We were cruel. We were, in Lady Amelia’s own words, ‘monsters’.

And we flinched not once.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Amelia’s Diary...

Irrepressible these hounds were. They may have saved me and my dear friend Annie, but they neither cared for us nor thought of stopping for our sake. I think that is what I thought that horrible morning, though in retrospect, and now that I am safe again, I do feel a little sense of compassion. It may have been fright, or it may have been tiredness. It may have even been the shock of Seamus Croft’s demise, but that day I was in no mood to be treated like a simpleton damsel.

Writing this in the confines of my bed, when I am now, shall I say, acquainted with Jacob and Lyle, I do feel quite attached. They seem different for sure. Lyle is confident and often refined while Jacob is abrasive, yet I might venture to say rather more caring. Though there is a dark cloud over his head sometimes, which erupts with thunder if shaken…

I cannot help but have a thankful heart. Annie is better now even if she will never reclaim the true fire she had in her soul. Colour has been restored to her cheeks and her auburn locks are as they once were. The discomforts we faced were so unseemly that I hardly wish to think upon them anymore. Suffice to say that if ever it rains again I shall likely turn green with sickness. Oh how rain can dampen even the most lively of beings! Yet I shall write my experience down in this diary to give these events a sense of finality. Perhaps this way it will help me sleep at night…

I felt so low after hearing of Seamus’s fall. I could have cried and perhaps I did, but the rain surely hid any real tears. Though even the weather was not enough for Annie’s weeping.

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She did so even as we followed the gruff looking man that called himself Amos out of our little shelter. I turned to look at the collie and for a heartbeat thought it had smiled at me. Instead it gave a sharp growl. ‘He wants you to move on. Do not stop,’ the man called Elijah said to me. I nodded and followed the path Amos and Annie had led. It frightened me to think that all this was because of me. My very existence had meant many men had died. Such reality is a sober and disturbing thought. As a relation to Emperor Umeris I should perhaps see it as my birthright. But I cannot rationalise any sacrifice, especially that of my friend Seamus. His plight makes me think of his brother. Such a thought inevitably constricts my very heart and I feel that dying ember of love. I do not think it will ever truly fade.

Rain it did for the rest of that grey day. I remember the silent man Amos setting an unforgiving pace, one which meant Elijah had to carry Annie for much of the rest of the morning. My feet burned and I tried not to think of what ghastly picture I would behold in front of a looking glass. I smelt mud, and worse my dress was ruined forever! The rain hardly presented an agreeable picture. No doubt a stranger passing would find it hard to accept that we were noble born women of society.

We left the forests and the base of the foothills sometime after noon and followed a brook we were forbidden to drink from. The country ahead was plain and unassuming, with the only striking feature a myriad of mass boulders looming ahead and behind. Indeed, even with all the rain, the road we trod was hard, as if we were standing on rock and nothing else. It did little to sooth my ailing feet.

I stood atop a ridge looking down and my heart sank at the treacherous scene before me.

Nothing I saw but stone and scree. Such a desperately depressing sight. It did little to hearten

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me when Amos chirped that the Canal was some ten miles away. ‘If your legs can carry you we’ll be at the Bridge sometime after nightfall.’ I almost cried at such words of doom and watched as Annie refused to be carried another step. Her dogged sense of respect and detached aura gave me glimmer of hope. She had not given in so neither would I. Even so I felt it my duty to complain about the inhuman pace and demanded we take a deserved break. Amos scoffed. ‘We’re going deliberately slow for you ladies and we won’t be taking a break until the others have caught us up. Now stop sobbing and move your hind on!’

What a vulgar man! I glanced at Annie who took one large breath and strolled on apace.

How she tired not is beyond my comprehension. One remembers that old adage: ‘when one is determined anything is conceivable’.

Rufus, the insufferable man who spoke constant verse, was spotted by Elijah perhaps an hour later. In the rain he looked like a feral beast rising from the rocks. I shivered at the sight of blood on his tunic and then stared as two distant shadows appeared from the path. They too had blood stained on their clothes but would speak nothing of it. ‘You will have to forgive our appearance ladies,’ Lyle said and then at my insistence allowed us to rest for half an hour. I saw that Amos was far from happy with this and taking Rufus, decided to scout the path behind to make sure nobody followed our trail. Lyle insisted he wouldn’t find a soul. ‘But if it puts his mind at rest so be it. I must say Amelia, may I call you Amelia? That despite this exertion you are positively glowing. The exercise does you good I see.’

I frowned. ‘My feet hurt, my whole body aches and my dress is ruined, so forgive me if I do not agree with you. And no you may not call me Amelia. I am not some common milkmaid

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that you intend to woo. I am a Count’s daughter and therefore should be addressed as a lady should.’

‘How terrifying, my honour smirched forever! But as you wish my lady. How is your friend?’ Lyle asked changing the subject tactfully. He looked at Annie who spoke before I could give an honest reply. ‘Do not fret,’ she simply said and then stared into the distance. I wondered whether she was straining to see our destination.

We were resting alongside a large boulder and though it blocked us from the wind it did little to stop the rain. Miserable barely did justice to my state of mind. I closed my eyes for a brief second in the hope that all of this was but a dream. Yet when I heard Lyle speak again I knew I was being foolish. ‘The Canal is about another seven miles away. This is tough country so it will take longer than usual scrambling up rocks and finding paths. But I’d say we’ll probably find ourselves on the east bank of Eccelston Gorge before too long. And that is a sight I dearly wish to see again. Such a huge canyon and once the greatest river in Armintia!’

‘Watch your footing lest you slip,’ was Jacob’s sole response, though good advice it was.

He stared at me on occasions without even realising he did so. His words were usually rough and yet carried a weighty sense of concern. I believe his countenance has changed a lot since before my capture. My first conversation with him was so enchanting. Now I feel he is detached. If only he were more forthcoming and less cold I could pretend to like him.

We set off at a more welcoming pace, and I was soon savouring Jacob’s advice when I slipped on a loose stone whilst climbing an imaginary path up a slope plagued by sharp rock and black scree. I cursed and fell into the arms of that oppressive man. Jacob simply caught me and unashamedly pushed my rear and told me to watch my feet again. I must admit there was

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a certain amount of silent intrigue at his unwitting embrace. I then felt unerringly conscious of Jacob staring at my bottom for much of the journey. As a lady I should have insisted he go ahead but I saw that horrible man Amos was behind still and shivered at the thought of him staring at me for the next two hours. At any rate I was comforted by the fact that if I did fall I would be caught or at the very least find Jacob and Amos as suitable cushions.

My hands were so dirty that my nails were covered in grime and my dress so unredeemable that I had several tears that betrayed by bare and very cold skin at the thigh.

How unladylike I looked!

On reaching the crest of the scree ridge I soon heard the indubitable sound of rushing water. And on walking a short distance further we found a rampant flow of water that presented a mighty river. Lyle frowned at this and muttered with Rufus and Elijah for a while before following the torrent downstream. I looked to the heavens and wished the rain would stop. After another hour we ourselves came to a halt. Stopped because before us was a mighty drop and a surge of beating froth where the water fell into a haze of blistering fury. ‘Ah a waterfall,’ Lyle said looking to the heavens, ‘that was not there three years ago.’

‘Neither was this river,’ Amos grunted standing on the edge and looking down without any fear of falling. Elijah kneeled to stroke Willis in an effort to calm him. The noise the waterfall created was quite spectacular and I was surprised the sound scared that old dog. ‘He can hear things we cannot,’ was Elijah’s excuse. He then stood and raising his voice above the din added. ‘Clearly you have not been in the lands of the River Prince during the rainy season.’

‘We’ll have to find another way down,’ Amos growled.

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‘That could mean a delay we cannot afford,’ Lyle answered deep in thought. He looked to Rufus who stared at the roaring river and knelt down. ‘My advice friend is to speak to the River Prince and tell him he blocks our end.’

‘What nonsense is this?’ Jacob grumbled, his untutored opinion of the River Prince much like my own. I watched then as Rufus closed his eyes in prayer and I began to protest but stopped short when Elijah stood on the crevice of the fall and spread his arms in acclamation and submission. I would have said something I was sure, if it was not for the fact that I saw Annie silently praying, her eyes closed, shivering in the rain. Lyle had his eyes closed too, though his lips were still. The miserable man Amos was beseeching whatever gods would listen. I soon realised that myself and Jacob were the only ones abstaining from such blasphemy.

And yet I find it hard to imagine what other events could explain what happened next. I even find it difficult to explain such a phenomenon in words. Suffice to say that suddenly the water behind us began to dry up and soon we found that where there was water falling seconds earlier there was now a great cliff. The river had drained away and though Lyle tried to explain it logically I was unconvinced. ‘Clearly,’ he said a little shaken by the miracle, ‘this land is susceptible to fallen rock for we have skirted many a scree slope so far. Some must have fallen on the river upstream and formed a dam.’

‘It was the River Prince!’ Elijah praised, ignoring his friend’s doubts.

And even if it wasn’t then something amazing had still happened that day. I shall never forget it for it gave me hope. Smiling, I turned to see that Jacob was staring at me again. I met his gaze for a brief second before Lyle interrupted with an unnerving grin. ‘Still, there’s no

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guarantee we won’t slip and break our necks climbing down,’ he jested. I made to reply but was interrupted by a large bang cascading through the sky. It was as if a hammer had shaken the earth. At first I thought it was thunder and looked to the skies. Jacob shook his head and pointed in the direction of the noise. ‘An explosion, no storm,’ he said. It was Lyle’s voice that confirmed by doubt. ‘It seems the Parisian Canal already has visitors.’ I could have cried.

For despite the miracle it still rained.

It is now late and my eyes grow heavy. I should probably sleep but my mind races with the adventure I had only a few days ago. I am writing by candlelight and my ink is blotchy so I can excuse myself from any incorrect language or indecipherable hand. Perhaps somebody shall read this in the future and perhaps they won’t. Irrespective, this is my story. So if you are reading then remember me. And remember those who helped me…

The climb down that accursed cliff, made more treacherous by the howling rain, was eased somewhat by a length of rope in Amos’s pack. Though it did not reach the entire way down it surely saved myself and Annie from falling to our deaths.

We then followed the swollen river downstream for perhaps another hour before Lyle decided to cross. With the waterfall dammed it barely reached my ankles yet I still felt the piercing cold as I wrenched up my skirts. The opposite bank provided a path that led us up boulders and brick yet again. My feet burned and I felt inexcusably tired. My head was light from such exhaustion and my stomach growled in want of a proper meal. In the end we two ladies had to be carried. Lyle bore my weight while Jacob graciously carried Annie, lifting her up like he would a rose from a flowerbed.

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After only a short while Lyle began to mutter to himself and I half looked across to Annie, who seemed to be sleeping on Jacob’s back. ‘Something the matter?’ I then asked, for more than once he had stumbled striding up a particularly difficult slope. Lyle seemed to laugh. ‘Normally,’ he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of the climb, ‘a gentleman would not comment on a lady’s weight. However, my lady, you seem to be getting heavier with every stride I take!’

I laughed rather than take offence. ‘The mighty Lyle incapable of carrying a small delicate woman but a few miles?’

Lyle paused for breath before replying. ‘If we were on flat ground I would gladly run my lady, but I’m conscious of every step I take up this rain filled land lest I slip and break your neck with a fall.’

‘How reassuring.’

‘On the contrary my lady,’ he stressed again with more effort than was necessary, ‘I merely speak of my burden and my duty to your safety. Likely Amos would catch me if I fell but you he does not like and so I must be careful where I put my feet.’

With my arms held around his neck, I gave him a sedated punch on his chest in response.

Altering his step he frowned. ‘Was that some form of light reprimand you ladies dish out to those gentleman who show a commonality for rudeness?’

‘A playful riposte at your attempt of humour Lyle, that is all.’

‘Ah!’ he then snapped, ‘so you are allowed to use my Birth Name are you? Well I say you call me Mr. Ramtk.’

‘But you are not a gentleman!’ I protested lightly.

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‘Again I must beg to differ my lady, since nobody other than a gentleman would have consented to carrying you up this treacherous ridge. Though I am not without reason. May I instead propose a trade?’

‘Trade, you think me a merchant woman!’ I answered, mocking alarm.

‘I think you a clever woman milady,’ Lyle replied with a grin.

‘Damned nuisance,’ I heard Amos grunt from behind. I couldn’t help but produce a lengthy pause that brought to me a smile. For some strange reason I was enjoying myself.

Perhaps it was the position of power I seemed to have over Lyle. Or perhaps I was so miserable I could do nothing but smile. ‘What, pray tell, does this trade encompass?’ I then asked politely.

Lyle cleared his throat. ‘Only that if you wish to use my Birth Name then you must give me the right to call you by yours.’

I smiled inwardly. ‘I shall think about it,’ I then replied.

The rain may have lightened but it made my nose run and my body grow cold. After another hour we scaled the ridge and reached the summit. My eyes flickered with tiredness so it wasn’t for another heartbeat before I realised we had stopped. Opening them, I saw before me quite a spectacular sight. Below, spiralling for miles upon end, spanning the width of two great galleons and too deep for me to see, stood Eccelston Gorge. I have never seen such a wonder. How nature could form such a marvel is beyond my understanding. I felt my breath catch and for a few seconds I forgot the cold and the rain. In the shimmering haze of precipitation it was like a long silver rope climbing on and on.

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‘One of the wonders of Armintia,’ Elijah said, he himself in awe, ‘it is good to finally see it again.’

‘We shall rest here,’ Lyle said. Amos frowned. ‘Shouldn’t we head for the Canal given what we heard?’

Lowering me to my feet, his left arm supporting my waist, Lyle shook his head. ‘The fact we heard an explosion is all the more reason for us to rest before facing the prospect of peril.’

I sneezed suddenly and Lyle looked at me then with eyes full of warmth and concern.

‘You are cold, here,’ and without warning he held me close – my breasts squeezed rhythmically against his chest as he began to rub my back. I felt a safety in his embrace and shivered in his arms. The intimacy was not missed on the others, especially Jacob who scowled disapprovingly with Amos.

‘The storm rages so that even the hero cannot withstand it. Like a dove it flies over and breaches the boundaries of love,’ I heard Rufus mumble to Elijah, though he was staring at Annie as he uttered it. I realised that she too was in the arms of Jacob, clinging to him tightly in an attempt to starve off the cold. Willis howled and at that the spell was broken.

I stepped slowly away, still shivering. ‘Thank you.’

Lyle did not reply and instead turned to the direction of the Canal, staring north-east.

‘Past this ridge and down those boulders we’ll find fertile land again. In that valley is Parisian Canal and Florien Bridge.’

‘Florien the architect?’ I heard Annie ask, her love of the industrial something I do not share. Lyle nodded. ‘Yes Florien designed it, but I fear when we reach the valley there will be nothing but rumble and brick.’

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Jacob then spoke, noticing my incomprehension at such a statement. ‘Armies destroy bridges in times of war to deny their enemy a footing on both banks.’

‘And all rather superfluous if the enemy happen to have means of nautical travel,’ Lyle added, smiling at Jacob who turned his eyes from the gesture. I huddled against a rock and stared out towards the gorge. ‘Do you think Legosian troopers were responsible?’

‘Heavens I hope not!’ Lyle replied, ‘for if they have managed to reach this far inland then Armintia might as well wave a white flag now. In fact we might as well send a message north to Parisian itself and tell that great city of Armintia’s fall if such news were true.’

I watched as Jacob shifted uneasily at Lyle’s acclamation. Ignoring him I continued my interrogation. ‘Then if Legosian soldiers are not down there, it means Armintian ones are? We are saved are we not?’

‘My dear you are forgetting one very important fact before you get anymore excited.’

I glared my eyes. I do so hate it when Lyle talks like some pedantic fool who thinks he knows all. And because I let him embrace me he had the audacity to call me his dear! For surely he knows what dear means? Surely he is not so ignorant to understand that of all the words it means beloved, cherished, sweetheart! As a woman I know I read into such language perhaps more than men, who seem to speak words without any real thought or meaning.

Instead of answering I waited for him to continue. ‘You forget,’ he said, ‘that I am an outlaw. A notorious one at that. Even though we are far from your fathers lands my name is known.’

‘Full of yourself aren’t you. So you will kidnap me? Of all the conceited –’

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‘My intention was never to rescue you only to render myself captured once again,’ Lyle interrupted with a grunt of irritation. I shrugged. ‘Then stay here and Jacob will take me down. He at least is no outlaw!’

‘My lady,’ I then heard Jacob chirp anxiously. He paused and bowed slightly. ‘Perhaps it is wise to listen to Lyle on this. We cannot be sure what we will face when we reach the Canal.’

‘You speak like a coward Mr. Hilmai!’ I snapped harshly, ‘has Lyle managed to coax you with his silver tongue too?’ My confession was too much. Jacob growled. ‘Listen to me,’ he said with such force it made me freeze, ‘stop acting like the spoiled child you are and be thankful we have brought you this far! Lyle knows the land better than me. It would be foolish if we separate now. And besides, a nervy commander who has blown a bridge before the Legosian Army has even taken Falore, is not one I wish to meet when the sun dims and night falls!’

Lyle coughed. ‘Unless of course Falore has fallen,’ he reasoned impishly. He looked at me then and nodded. ‘But Jacob is right my lady. And for that reason we shall find what shelter there is and approach the Canal at dawn. And yes Amos you shall track the road behind to make sure we are not followed,’ he said pacifying his friend’s angry glare. ‘Elijah can scout the Bridge. Sometimes it is better to approach situations when you have gathered all the knowledge you need.’

And so there it is. We then moved a short distance back down the ridge we had climbed moments before. It was a place Rufus had spotted; three large boulders overlapping each other to create a small cave. It did not cut out all the rain but it sheltered us completely from the howling wind.

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I did not converse with Lyle for the rest of the night.

In fact he did not talk to me and instead spent most of his time talking to Rufus or Jacob.

I even turned my shoulder at Jacob when he tried to make his peace. Those words of his hurt me, perhaps because in them rang a note of truth.

Indeed it was to Annie I let in. As dark reigned triumphant above I felt her cold hand touch me and I took it and embraced her. It was not long after that I began to cry, and though it was muffled from Annie’s embrace I knew the others heard. An hour later Amos returned and opening his bag, handed us some bread. He then took sticks from his sack and in my amazement saw him create a fire. Then from the dim glow I flinched as he took a dead hare hanging from his belt and began to skin and gut it. He saw my queasiness at such a skill but ignored me.

Eventually I fell asleep, only to wake next to a pleasant warmth, the burning embers of the fire still glowing in the dark of the cave. It was Annie who woke me, offering me browned meat for want of supper. I looked at it and thought of the hare that had been skinned. ‘I have had some,’ Annie said, ‘the men have shared the liver and the heart.’ I almost retched at that but took the small breast anyway, eating greedily. Swallowing the last piece I noticed that Amos had stored the legs in his pack. He looked at me accusingly. ‘Can’t have you hungry at breakfast my lady,’ he said with disdain. And with that I fell back into a turbulent sleep.

We woke an hour after dawn and once I had broken my fast I peered out of the cave to see it had stopped raining, though clouds loomed above. The shepherd Elijah saw me emerge and nodded, sitting on a rock close by and sharing a meal with his faithful collie. He smiled at my repulsive gesture. ‘Willis caught me two leverets. Young, not much meat. That’s why he

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caught them. He’s not as nimble as he was; yet to catch a fully grown hare. Probably the same drove Amos happened upon last night.’ He smiled again and I returned to the cave. Stooping back into the dim light I realised that only Amos and Annie were present. ‘In your gluttony you didn’t notice,’ Amos teased, ‘they’re scouting the Canal,’ he said before I could even ask.

He glanced at Annie. ‘Your young friend here took the chance to relieve herself; I suggest you do the same. There’s a suitable rock a minute further down. I’m sure Elijah won’t look.’

I glared. Amos was enjoying my discomfort. His smile soon disappeared however, at some untold sound and he stood suddenly alert, waving his hand towards me lest I speak. I was surprised by his immediate change in countenance but eventually I heard it too. Amid the morning breeze I listened to the most terrible of noises. My face told Amos everything. His grin returned. ‘Relieve yourself quickly my lady for that there is the blessed sound of an eightgrooved-barrel Pitson rifle waking up the valley!’ Of course he was more crude then I care to write. I shivered. ‘They shoot at Armintians?’

Amos grinned. ‘Well that would be telling my lady. For Elijah found a real surprise on the Canal so he did!’

My heart groaned at the sound of his words and I couldn’t help but wonder what Amos meant. Nor could I help but notice his grin. What man could smile at the prospect of waters once pure, turn crimson with death? And since this is my diary and my story, and I doubt nobody shall read it, I must confess that such anxieties meant relieve myself I could not!

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Richard’s Letter...

That morning was a morning I shall not forget lightly, though the events themselves have become obscure over time. I remember it was cloudy yes, but inside I felt a warmth that was inspired by the adrenalin of a battle, albeit a small one.

Elijah had returned late in the night to tell us of some news that would change our fortune for the better. Oh sister how alive I felt! Like a wolf ready to strike down a wounded deer, we opportunists prowled out at night. Rising before dawn, Elijah showed us the path and our prize glittering in the dark, before returning to the camp. There were three of us sister. I stood proud, knowing what had to be done. Lyle crouched grinning, for he too was infected by the lure of an easy kill. Rufus, dear Rufus simply stood emotionless. His eyes never left the flicker of torches close to the Canal bank.

We waited until the sun had risen, scouting and counting the number of our foe. Some fools may have attacked at night, but for my part I believe fighting in darkness is folly. And so we waited for the shimmer of light. It was not a pretty dawn for there were too many clouds, but I still felt a sense of awe as night turned into day.

The Canal is a large manmade waterway. It runs right from Parisian in the north to Falore in the south. At times it can stretch for over a quarter of a mile in width. It truly is a marvellous creation. And we saw the bridge. Or what was left of such a structure. For where Florien had stood there was but rubble and brick dividing the water. Even so, the Canal was a wondrous sight to behold then. I can only hope it survives this war. Engraved within a valley

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it is a testament to man’s skill. Man’s dominance over land and water. It is no wonder that nature fights back. Why else sister are there floods, storms and fiery mountains? Why else would the earth shake, if it was not because it shuddered at our supremacy? The priest told me it was God raging in anger at our greed and hatred. If that is true then I want no part in his religion.

There were a half dozen Armintians in the valley, guarding the dock-side-cottage. They had clearly been attacked for they looked tired and on edge – wary that one last bullet might find its mark. A further glimpse down the Canal answered for their disposition. A Legosian steamer, or more aptly, a twelve man barge graced the waters. With a green brush it was built for speed. I almost felt guilty for I could not help but wonder if this was my doing sister. For it did not take a simpleton to see what had destroyed the once beautiful bridge, made famous for its Florien design. Legosian troopers. They and the barge had done this. They had destroyed the crossing and in doing so stopped us from taking our road to Onis.

Which meant sister we would be walking no longer. For we planned to take the barge.

And I felt blissfully awake.

I crept confidently, knowing nobody heard or saw our descent. It would be wrong of me sister, to describe the killing in detail. A lady should not have to suffer the burden of such cruel extremities. Indeed it is hard to remember everything, and I dare not use my imagination to change the past when the souls of those men are still imprinted on my mind. Lest I blacken my soul to the depths of the underworld I will write that fifteen men died; both Legosian and Armintian. And not all died from our hand. The only death I can cite for sure is that of a Legosian who suffered the cruel fate of Alisqua, the old god of Water. It is an upsetting tale,

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but one I shall attempt to unveil because the drowning brought about a screeching cry from the ridge above.

I heard it after staring into that drowning man’s dying eyes. Myself the architect of his demise. The man in fact was little more than a boy. The startling realisation made me understand just how young I was. So young and yet so terribly involved in an adult’s twisted play that could only end in tragedy. He had tried to grab at my leg as I was beating off one of his comrades. Clearly he had been knocked down dazed. I instinctively tried to kick him off, but his grip got purchase and then grew tighter. I remember nothing else only that eventually I was able to confront him. I spun round and kicked him in the ribs, and was satisfied my connection had broken a few bones. He squealed in pain but was not yet defeated.

Courageously he got to his feet, something Amos or Lyle would not have allowed, but I am not one for unfair fights if I am confident I can win the round without foul play. He was breathing hard, shouting his pathetic Legosian war cry. All I could see was his pale white face and his green eyes. Eyes that were far too young to be heeding the cry of death’s blinding call.

Striking with no weapon, he lost his balance and I quickly shifted my weight and kicked hard at his knee. There is a certain spot sister that under the right amount of pressure, will give way and snap. I heard it crack and watched triumphantly as he buckled under the pressure of a broken leg. I saw the bone sticking out of his ruddy garments and hit him hard in the face. His proximity to the starboard rail meant his momentum forced him over the side.

I watched him fall sister and saw his eyes panic as he struggled to stay afloat. He was doomed and I knew it, and I didn’t help him. At that time I did not wish to, for he was the

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enemy. I watched him go all the way, and will never forget his eyes as he finally gave out and his soul knocked on death’s door.

Such a death perhaps may have been forgotten. However, as I turned around I saw at my feet a piece of parchment, and then remembered a fumbling of his hands as I was about to hit him. I lifted the note and opened it. It began: To my dearest mother. I could have cried. It was as if Death was laughing at me. He was the Reaper and I was the messenger. I still have the note now, though I doubt it will ever be sent. Perhaps the nurses will see it and be filled with compassion or I could give it to Father Teale. He would surely send it to the mother who had a son no more. The son I killed.

On reading the note I instinctively turned back to the rail and watched as his body slowly slipped down to the dark shadows of the abyss, there to remain until the world ends.

And I may well have dived in after the bloated corpse if it had not been for that loud piercing cry from the ridge.

Clearly it came from a woman and I jerked up ahead to see that Amelia was pointing behind her. She was crying and I glanced to a bloodied Lyle before noticing Elijah emerge from the crevice. He pulled Amelia back and then looked down to us, signalling the bad news with a shake of his head. ‘You think it’s Annabel?’ I said speaking to Lyle. He shook his head. ‘I think we were followed after all.’

‘Must be bloody good.’

‘The man who was leading the Legosian troopers, you know of his background?’ Lyle asked, his eyes casting an accusing glance. I nodded unsteadily. ‘De Poole was a Knight.’

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‘Lovely. Perhaps you should have divulged such information earlier?’ Lyle spat sarcastically. I hesitated to answer, instead preferring to watch Elijah travel down the ridge, grasping Amelia by the arm. The scene made me frown. ‘De Poole doesn’t want anything to do with Lord Rheese’s wife,’ I said, my stomach twisting when I saw the lady Annabel follow slowly from behind, her face a white impassive mask. My eyes remained fixed as the dog Willis then appeared, bringing up a despondent rear. ‘Maybe he saw what we did to his lieutenant?’

‘Death’s shadow is cruel. It was the fool who chose to fight, yet the death of a brother should not anger the Knight,’ Rufus mused in his cryptic verse.

Lyle growled in irritation. We three stood on the upper deck of the barge oblivious of the slaughter we had created minutes earlier. ‘Helping these women has proved a mistake,’ Lyle sighed.

‘You think we should just cast them off, let the wild take them?’ I asked.

‘What makes you so sure I wouldn’t slit your throat as well?’

I stifled a smile. ‘We are comrades now Lyle, a brotherhood forged in blood. And besides you would not cast Amelia to the wolves.’

‘You do not own my loyalty yet,’ Lyle replied defectively, staring towards Elijah who betrayed no signs of emotion. I suppressed the urge to reply and simply stood, cursing myself and the days that had passed. Looking up, I wondered what had caused Amelia to cry out so.

And what of Elijah’s sedate reaction? We could see the two women travelling down the track.

And there followed the dog behind. I pondered on the obscurity, knowing in my heart what must have happened, but daring not to utter the words lest they prove to be false. Such hope is

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a cruel lapse of human emotion. For what gives us hope in these dark times? What can make a man happy when he knows that death will reign victorious in the end? Is it the satisfaction of a successful existence, or an honourable countenance? Or could it be fame that man strives toward, the need to be remembered in history when the heart fails and the body falls? Do men seek a family, wish to pass on their seed, sire sons so that their name will last forever?

Can man truly be happy with all these and yet not gain love? Can someone feel complete without sharing a life with another? Is it love that binds happiness and the true meaning of existence together? For my part sister, it is a dangerous road the path of love. And loving a woman with all your heart does not have the power to trample on the coattails of death knocking at your door. The priest tells me that love is the answer to life. But it is the love of a God he is alluding to. Such enunciation clearly has no earthly benefits.

Amelia looked so vulnerable as Elijah guided the women down. And though Annabel might be the more attractive of the two, Amelia’s vulnerability made my throat grow taut.

There was something magical about her stride. Something so striking about her figure that my eyes were fixed on no one else. Indeed poets have often described true beauty as sunsets, rare glimpses that have the power to stop a heart and move a soul. Lasting impressions that catch the breath. This is what I felt and at the time the feeling made me feel confused. Are there singular moments when you realise love has broken the boundaries of your heart and besieged the rational walls of your mind? Is there a point when you know, despite everything else, that you have feelings for a woman? Impossible feelings that contradict everything you know concerning the sanity of logic or truth? I hate to ask these questions sister for I know the answers and each one stabs at my heart like a poisoned knife in the dark.

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But then what else can I do but reminisce? I am destined to live out the rest of my dying days in this bed wishing that events may have been different so that my fate could be altered.

Alas I tell you this story as much for my own gratification as to your education. My love for you is pure, but then we have not seen each other these past years. And our love is not of the heart but bound in blood, which makes the road we walk on more assured. For the two are very much different. One has roots, foundations, like a castle built on solid ground. The other is treacherous and granular, like that of a castle built on sand. At anytime it could fall or a wave could sweep it away.

My trance was broken by Lyle who grabbed my arm and pulled me to one side in an apologetic manner. ‘We all have secrets Jacob,’ he whispered ominously, his garb squalid, his countenance languid. ‘You and I are perhaps not too dissimilar and yet there is one thing that is different between us men.’ He paused and arched his face in closer. ‘I know your secrets, you do not know mine.’

As a threat it was not one of Lyle’s more subtle exchanges. Yet in any case I nodded. ‘I wasn’t aware you had any,’ I answered innocently, shrugging off his embrace. Lyle smiled.

‘Everyone has secrets Jacob, and until you know all mine and I yours I cannot trust you. Yet we are no longer rivals, nor have our actions made us mere acquaintances. Perhaps I may call you a friend in a guarded fashion but comrades we are not, for comradeship speaks of more than just survival together. It means devotion, loyalty and the certainty that if the event occurred the other would gladly sacrifice himself to save that unto which he loves.’

‘Not comrades then,’ I agreed.

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‘But not rivals either, nor enemies. In fact comprehend how to oil these engines and steer this boat and I might consider throwing myself in front of a bullet for you.’ Lyle grinned - the same grin that has the power to unsettle me even now. Of course this barge we had captured was Legosian and as such needed someone with a Legosian touch. I knew how to work it and said as much to Lyle. ‘The engine has not been sabotaged?’ he asked surprised. I shook my head knowing that is what I would have done once I knew the fight was lost. ‘These Legosians were confident of victory.’

Lyle nodded. ‘Not the same ones we met in the Vale.’

At least that much was accurate, which meant my treacherous words to de Poole had not proven to be the originator in the destruction of the bridge or the loss of lives. My conscience was lightened - for a time at least. I watched as Rufus and Lyle helped the two ladies on board and nodded to them intrigued. For I was assessing their mannerisms and understood that their reactions and indeed their faces betrayed an emotion born out of fear. Elijah did not explain until his dog pounced onto the barge. And even then we knew what his words would bring.

‘They followed us,’ he said, ‘silently and for a time without detection. Amos heard them first and tracked them two miles from where we were camped. I know this for when he did not return I went to investigate.’

‘You left the women alone?’ Lyle asked, the tone of his voice suggesting a level of disapproval. Elijah shrugged. ‘They had Willis. And besides I had heard gunshots.’

‘We did not,’ I said helping Annie sit.

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‘You are downwind and the ridge here is big enough to deflect gunshots over the valley,’ Elijah explained. ‘Even so the two bodies I found were Legosian. Though there was a separate blood trail.’

‘Amos was shot?’ Lyle asked concerned, for I knew he regarded the grisly veteran as a true comrade. Elijah nodded and then shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but there is no sign of a struggle. In fact it would seem Amos led the enemy away from our camp.’

‘In which case we cannot wait for him,’ Lyle said doggedly.

‘But what if he is captured?’ Amelia asked, sitting next to Annie. Lyle smiled. ‘He is not so easy to thwart. And besides he knows what he is doing. Eventually, if he escapes, he’ll find us again.’

‘His actions may have saved you from a more unseemly end madam,’ I said, instantly regretting my words. I shook my head as an apology, which brought about a brief smile to Amelia’s lips. Her eyes rested on me for a brief second before Lyle spoke again. ‘And now it is time to go.’

‘And where would that be?’ Amelia asked, the spell broken.

‘Oh to sail the Canal of reason, doth shalt cometh home and be tried for treason,’ Rufus quipped.

Lyle translated. ‘We are going home my lady. Back to Onis and your father. And may the gods save me from a hanging.’

*

*

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*

Richard’s Letter...

The magical journey to Onis took a full week, but those seven days I would not change for all the wealth in Armintia. How blissfully dreamlike it all seemed. The exposure to doses of such surreal events (that I now call ‘love’) caused my mind to believe in the incogitable. My whole soul became addicted to the escapism dreamed, and the ecstasy lived out aboard that barge. I do not know how to describe falling in love. With the matter of ‘love’ I do not think even science has the answer, for how can one theorise an emotion? My own equation is thus: Mind works against the heart to build up an intense amount of untouchable energy. An energy that is finally let free. The outcome is love.

It can be falsely felt sister, imagined instead of secured. Perhaps that is what I feel, though my heart will not allow it. It rules over my head like a golden sceptre in the hands of a king. It chastises me at every moment, haunts me in my sleep and plagues me even now. Yet it burns so brightly I can do nothing but write, write to you about these events. The woeful tale of my heart.

The barge was built for battle rather than comfort but somehow we found ourselves suitably fitted to the journey. Easy to man and with fresh supplies, it seemed our luck had finally changed. I felt a weight lift, though Lyle never truly relaxed. And nor could he with the unfortunate news of Amos’s plight. I did not realise I too was fretting until a certain lady pointed it out to me, much cheered by her propinquity to home.

‘Come Mr. Hilmai, you look so deep in thought, what ails you so?’ Amelia asked, on the third night of our travel. She herself was wrapped in a cloak, taking dinner in the fore cabin.

The ability to speak fluently and without thought had always been a particular strength of

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mine, so why I could not reply to her question only intensified my internal torturous war. I do not know what Amelia thought of it either. If I were her, words like ‘odd’, ‘strange’ and ‘incomprehensively stupid’ might have come to mind. I have never played a good mute sister, and I blushed. Blushed for nobody had asked me such a question with such sincerity. It felt like I was the only being worth caring about, the only being she deigned to converse with.

Such childish fantasies. Her response, though I choose to dismiss it as simple semantics, was so typical of her at that time. ‘What is the matter, Mr. Hilmai has the stress of leaving your homeland finally struck you dumb?’

Compassion I was unfamiliar with, but sarcasm I could handle. In respect to the two I am like a huntsman who could catch even the most cynical of hogs. But put me in a room loaded with empathy and I believe I would leave it with a bullet lodged next to my heart, uncertain whether I would live till I was seventy or die the next morning.

My response was not eloquent, nor was it spoken as a gentleman for I had hitherto learnt to treat Amelia with distance and scorn. My response was thus put like this: ‘Lady I am not dumb, though I doubt your refined existence would establish such differences, nor am I for that matter missing home, for which your remark implied. Thirdly, I am not stressed, though watching over you does my health more harm than good. To be frank I did not hear you because I simply am not interested in what you say.’ The lie was complete. She looked at me with eyes so devilishly piercing I did not know whether to run or stand like a rather simple statue. In the end I saw her lips twitch and suddenly she was laughing.

It is said sister that laughter is contagious, but when one realises his own foolishness it is better to laugh then yield to the humiliation of crying as an alternative. And so I laughed. I

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laughed loudly and so hard I thought my stomach was about to split in two. I had no idea why I was laughing nor did I care. I laughed and she laughed too.

Of course here I am, laughing no more. Reality has seized the day and so I choke drowning in love, drowning yet never able to reach the dark depths of that wheezing emotion.

Perhaps I should put a knife to my chest and cut out my heart. I close my eyes and remember what it was like to know sleep. Should I be content? The memory of love haunts me. But writing this letter I do not want you to lose hope sister. I have achieved many things in my life. An example I shall relate to you is companionship. Friendship is something I shall always value. Perhaps because like a horde of treasure, true brotherhood is rarely obtained.

Of course friendships are built on trust. And I would venture to say that by the end of our journey down the canal, Lyle was one of those few I could call a friend. It pains me still then when I remember the horrible truth. That some friendships are built on lies. I shall forgive Lyle, for I see now that he was constant whereas I was utterly unfaithful.

However, amongst all the despair there was one other I was desperate to see again. I knew in my heart of hearts that Seamus had not died from his wound – which meant I would see him once more in this arena of war. The dilemma of course was that to set Seamus free I would have to visit the lair of Legosian Command. Meet face to face with my father. And tell Marshal Roush why I had failed in my occupation as a spy.

The very thought sister, made me sit up all night awake with dread.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Amelia’s Diary...

How should one comment regarding the loss of that vile villain Amos? Even now, as I write I do not know if he is alive or dead. The uncertainty of his existence has been conjectured at length, though I do doubt the veracity of some assertions claiming he is no more. As I reminisce and as honesty surfaces above the waves of my mind, perhaps labelling him as a ‘villain’ or ‘vile’ is a little invective, for his temperament had been rather mercurial at times on our absurd trip toward the canal – though any sentiment which bestowed sign of manners was manifested in the most tiresome attempt at sarcasm, which in turn boarded on the relishing prospect that as ladies we were ill-equipped to live off the land. I should not be surprised at such behaviour, for propriety is something quite unbecoming in any man who cannot call himself a gentleman. And even then most gentlemen are tiresome bores that have a compulsive habit of upsetting nature’s preordained plan. Decorum was quite unfounded in any of the men on that little adventure. For sure, Lyle and Jacob showed glimpses of men able to grasp a lady’s mind, but as lesser beings they will never fully understand the delicate position of the world. Clumsy oafs the lot of them. Oh how I do delight in rendering them impotent, such is the power of my pen!

But I digress. The canal journey was largely a festival of casual boredom. Annie clung to me and talked little until the second day. Her conversation came from the most unlikely of sources. For I did not expect Elijah to comfort her. Nor did I expect the conversation I had with Lyle that afternoon. He looked at me and shook his head. The sun surprised us with its

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dominance in the skies. It sparkled brightly, which was why I was sitting above deck at the front of the boat. ‘I’m risking a lot for you,’ he said heavily. My eyes were exasperated with disapproval. I did not know how to answer. Instead I let him continue. ‘Rufus thinks I should leave you now, before your father’s troops capture me again.’

‘And what do you think?’ I asked. Lyle shrugged. ‘I won’t be hanged.’

‘My father will pardon you for what you have done,’ I answered thoughtfully, fully believing my statement. Lyle gave a forlorn laugh. ‘No he won’t. He’ll hang me. And he’ll hang Rufus and he’ll hang Elijah. We’re outlaws my lady so the law does not apply to us. Not even the law of reason. But still I have business in Onis so I will make sure you arrive there safely, even if it means we enter the town separately. Jacob will always be there to protect you. He is a good man my lady.’

‘I do not need protection,’ I stated. Lyle rubbed his chin. ‘We all need protection my lady and we all have a protector, maybe Jacob is yours.’

‘Maybe you are?’

He shrugged again, such a rude mannerism, but one often frequented by Lyle. I knew the meaning behind such a gesture. He tried to feign disinterest, but I could see in his eyes he would let no harm come to me. The knowledge comforted me profoundly and yet I do not feel safe around this man. How could I be when I know he killed Henry? However, one question did enter my mind when he let me be. If we all have a protector who was his?

It was only a little later that Annie came to find me. Her eyes were red. Visible reminders of her sorrow. ‘I close my eyes and all I see is his face.’

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I stroked her hair as she sat next to me. Unable to console her. What could I say or do that could ever bring back her trust? Her trust in what is good, in what is right? Seamus would know what to do. I do hope Jacob finds him. ‘Elijah says that those who have suffered grief will grow stronger because of it. His wife was raped and killed before his eyes.’

‘Poor man,’ I said, unable to relate. I paused. ‘Will you tell Lord Rheese?’

‘My husband is a busy man, he will not want to be plagued by such troubles,’ Annie replied dismissively. Poor Stapleton Rheese. Poor Annie. How unsettling this brief adventure had become. I cannot recall a time of worse sorrow, yet neither a time when my heart felt so content…

One bizarre event on our travels culminated in helpless laughter. Of which I cannot even recall the source. It happened a day or two after Annie’s resolve to keep Lord Rheese from knowing the awful truth. And I was quite unprepared for it. I think I laughed because I could no longer put up this cold front I had with a man, odd as he may be, that had helped save me. I surprise myself by writing and confessing that the man I speak of is Jacob Hilmai.

I admit that on occasion I do err towards the ungrateful. But under that surface of duty there is a feeling of compassion. Jacob so often fails to see it, though I believe Lyle sees through my façade more than any other. I do it to remain strong, to fight off fear. The last few weeks have taught me to understand patience as well as bestow gratitude.

It is impossible to not change after the ordeal we were exposed to. Could I call any of these men, these monsters, the very people who risked their lives to save me, friends? Is that the change that has occurred within? Do I now see a stranger and a bandit as men for whom I care? I often think I am fooling myself, for how many times have I written about the intrigue

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and countenance of the two men? Of course I care or I would not give them so much thought in my diary! But that does not stop me from worrying, for I do not know them well enough to trust them, like I would Seamus or my father.

I laughed with Jacob on that day. And he laughed too. And perhaps then a boundary was breached for the both of us. Never again will I see him uniformly as a cold heartless killer, though that is what he can be. No, there are other characteristics to this man, which are so honest and kind I barely understand them. Perhaps these are the traits Seamus had told me about. He always supported Jacob.

‘I must confess,’ Jacob said after we regained some sense of decorum, ‘never has somebody mystified me so much as you Amelia.’ Perhaps a day ago I might have berated him for such a careless statement, or snapped at him thinking he was doing me an insult. I even let the fact he used my Birth Name pass and simply smiled, my eyes gleaming with amusement.

Perchance it was tiredness that let me do this, or for the simple reasons I have stated above.

From thenceforth I have allowed him the right to use my name, though he chooses to do so only when society does not conform to formality. I venture to write with a little hesitation that this is my way of thanking him.

‘Should I be flattered by such a remark Mr. Hilmai?’

‘Please, call me Jacob, I do not see the need to remain so formal after we have shared a moment of laughter,’ Jacob replied. I smiled. ‘Very well Jacob, but I beg of you to answer my question at any rate.’

Jacob lowered his head before looking at me, his piercing gaze displaying an air of impudence. ‘You may find this hard to believe my lady but I do not find the company of the

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fairer sex easy to…’ He paused, searching the lexical nuances of his mind for a word. I laughed.

‘I think I understand… you find our company different to that of men.’

‘Different and difficult. I am not a natural orator like Lyle, and nor do I find it easy to speak my feelings. So when I call you mysterious I likely mean enchanting.’

‘Now Mr. Hilmai you have gone too far,’ I said in half-amusement, ‘but I believe you have proved your point. For my part I shall say thank you and will reply that I too find you enchanting. You are a mystery Jacob, that I must confess. More so than Lyle I would say, but your confession has helped me understand why at times you appear so cold and yet look at me with care.’ And it has. He is in all respects an oxymoron, an anathema, for how can a man be so cruel and yet be so kind? For that matter how can Lyle be so kind and yet be so cruel? I search the realms of literature to find similar heroes. The classics like Impertdium would never confuse good and evil, wrong and right. They are neither like the great hero Casidus or the famed villain Hedrofarn in Daniala’s stories. The rumours I have heard concerning the fate of Lieutenant Asdur fill me with dread. What they did to him is unimaginable.

‘I have a sister back home, we grew up together. She was the only female company I had before I joined the army and my life changed.’

I had guessed long ago that he had been in the army, for all noble born of Legosia join the legions. It was indeed satisfying to be proved right. Indeed he had admitted as much to my father months earlier. ‘What about your mother?’

‘An ill woman,’ was his only reply. ‘I see much of her in you,’ he added, eyeing me thoughtfully. All humour had now quite left his tone and he talked to me then for a good hour, and though I listened and contributed when I thought it polite, in all honesty I felt his

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conversation tiresome and neither have the resolve nor the memory to write his dialogue down verbatim…

There is little more to say regarding the canal journey home, for as I have stated, it was a terribly boring and monotonous cruise. I spoke at length to Annie, comforting her; once or twice to Jacob, but I had little opportunity to speak to Lyle, who kept to the stern. He spent most of his time with Elijah and Rufus, though there was one telling interaction forced on me when I was making for the cabin, only to trip and find myself in his grip. It had been a very windy afternoon that day and he had come to me asking that I go below deck. Rain had struck not an hour later.

Annie was asleep in the corner, Rufus was scribbling some verse on cheap paper while Elijah and Jacob sought to steer the barge through the impending storm. ‘You have been quiet these past few days,’ I said deliberately removing my arm from his grip. I could see Lyle found my comment amusing, for he gave a rather cynical laugh. ‘I hold my tongue because it seems whatever I say is challenged by your indubitable wisdom. You’re like a wife but without the benefits!’

For some strange reason I blushed at that remark and tried with all my will to confront him with a witty retort. All I could manage was to turn my head in an effort to hide my embarrassment. ‘You are such a vulgar man Lyle Ramtk,’ I said sitting down. After hesitating Lyle sat opposite me, casually crossing his legs. ‘I see you are still resigned to formalities. Yet I beg of you just try my first name but a-once, you will like it I know. In fact I believe you could warm to it my lady.’

‘Mr. Ramtk you forget yourself.’

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‘So you have declined the trade then?’

‘Pardon?’

Lyle shook his head. ‘The trade I offered you before our little journey on the Canal. It is a shame, I would have liked to have known you as Amelia rather than the daughter of a Count.

I’m sure she would be more agreeable.’

‘Once again Mr. Ramtk,’ I said deliberately, ‘you forget yourself. Why would I ever want to know you?’

‘Because I intrigue you.’

I blushed and felt for my diary. Surely he had not read from it? Such an act would have been unforgivable. Lyle laughed. ‘It is written all over your face madam, yet you try and ignore it.’

‘Don’t be absurd!’

‘Admit it, I intrigue you, I am a mystery, one which you cannot fathom!’

I swallowed hard and paused. ‘You do intrigue me,’ I then admitted lightly, watching something like relief flood through his eyes, ‘but then so does Jacob and for that matter your friends here!’

‘Unspoken is that feeling we try and repress, but slowly slowly the heart will undress,’ Rufus said without looking up, still scribbling away with pen and paper. Lyle grinned. ‘My friend Rufus is a perceptive man.’

I should have pretended ignorance but the very fact I knew what Rufus had meant unnerved me. ‘So now I have admitted intrigue you think I might love you!’ I could not help but laugh with all the scorn I could muster. ‘You forget you’re the man who killed Henry, the

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man I did love with all my heart. And you also resist my father, causing trouble throughout his land! Why then would I ever love you?’

‘You are putting words into my mouth. Rufus was talking of regret not love, you would know that if you got off your high horse and read poetry!’

‘I do read poetry,’ I replied like a sulking child. Lyle shook his head. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for my part in your lover’s demise! And how long will it take before you realise I am not the enemy!’ This last was said with a raised voice, which was surely heard above deck and woke poor Annie. I went to her and stroked her hair as she drifted back into her terrible sleep. ‘So tell me Lyle why do you oppose my father, why do you kill innocent people and harass his lands?’

‘I have never wittingly killed an innocent, though since you ask I shall oblige you in telling you my story,’ Lyle replied before hesitating. ‘As you might know I, like my brother Roark, were once Rangers for the Emperor. It is hard to describe the feeling I had when I received my Ranger’s badge. I was immensely proud, not just of my accomplishments but of my country. I would do anything for the Emperor. I loved the empire. Maybe I was young and foolish though, for it seemed the empire did not love me. It took one fateful mission to realise we had been abandoned, abandoned by the Emperor and abandoned by your father. How naive we were.’ I frowned at this and Lyle nodded. ‘Yes your father was the commanding officer and had given us our orders, orders he said, that came direct from the Emperor himself.

Yet orders that were designed to have us killed, killed I believe so that it gave your beloved Emperor the excuse he was looking for to go to war against Legosia.’

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‘Never!’ I shouted, ‘never would the Emperor seek war, he is a kind man. And at any rate Legosia invaded us, not we them!’

‘Aye but then we never did die and when we returned we learned of your father’s betrayal,’ Lyle said, his eyes welling from the ghosts of his past. I shook my head vehemently and stood up. ‘You lie, my father wouldn’t do that!’

‘He did.’

‘Well then he mustn’t have known about the Emperor’s plans!’

‘Then why did he kill one of our number when confronted by him?’

I opened my mouth to speak but could say no more. In all honesty what can I say? If it is true then my father is a murderer. I will confront him on this. For how can I trust an outlaw, a villain? And if it is true is that justification enough to do what Lyle has done? Days later, when we were safe at home once again, I admitted all this to Jacob who told me that Lyle was not a bad man. That it was his brothers who had given him the reputation he did not deserve. I cannot and I will not see this as an excuse. Lyle Ramtk is the monster, not my father.

And yet because he saved me and because my heart is undressing the naked truth inside me, I do see him as a friend. A very dear friend. And one, I fear, I can no longer live without.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Richard’s Letter...

The nurse has told me that a Mr. Talkville wishes to see me and will call on me within the week. I find this quite impossible since Jack is imprisoned for life in a dark dungeon under the walls of Elamea, the First City of Armintia. Does this mean the war is over, that the empire has fallen? In all honesty I cannot remember the last time I heard the distant hum of the heavy guns bombarding the inland settlements. Neither can I imagine what he has to say to me for we never did get along during the brief time our paths crossed.

My gaoler speaks to me concerning creations of death flying in the air and vehicles that are not pulled by horse. He says the war has changed the world. But that does not matter to me when I will not live to see these miraculous machines.

On the last day of our voyage I found myself in close proximity to Annie, resting on deck at the bow of the small steamer. She had been crying, for her eyes were red with the strain of tears, yet they were not tears in lament of her woe with Asdur. They were for a mutual friend.

‘I am sorry,’ I said at first, apologising for the violation she had incurred. She looked at me and I realised once again how pretty she was. Not even tears could disguise that fact. ‘Do not be sorry Jacob; I am not hurting for what has happened to me, but for what has happened to Seamus. Asdur will not touch another woman so Elijah tells me?’ she said, phrasing it as a question. I sniffed. ‘Aye he’s dead.’

‘Tell me how he died,’ she then asked quite catching me by surprise. I hesitated for it was not a question I wished to answer. Not to Annie. Not to anybody. Yet I did. I told her the

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whole truth, the terrible truth, the gruesome truth about the malevolent lieutenant and the inhuman murder. And it is not one I wish to share with you sister. Perhaps in years to come you will hear of this ghastly tale, but not by my pen. And if you do come to hear of how he died then I beg of you not to think worse of me, for I would do it again. As would Lyle and Rufus. For us the punishment fitted the crime.

‘Thank you,’ were her words after I had finished. They were not said out of vengeance but rather relief. I believe knowing he died helped the fear slowly subside. She then asked about Seamus. ‘You truly believe he is still alive?’

‘With all my heart, and when we are arrived home I shall go and negotiate his release.

That I promise.’

‘You will do that?’ Annie asked, hope rising in her voice. I nodded but then remembered his terrible injury. ‘Yet I must warn you he will not be the same, nor will he ever be able to walk unheeded again.’

‘To know he lives and to see him will be enough,’ Annie answered with a smile, ‘for I am still loyal to my husband.’

‘Lord Rheese is a good man,’ I replied. In that very instant I felt the barge slow and looked to the stern to see that Lyle was stopping the steamer. Elijah jumped to the shore with a rope and began tying her in, something we had not done since setting out, for even at night the four of us steered the barge in shifts. The barge itself only reached a top speed of three knots and we barely did one when darkness came. It had clearly been readied for a long journey north for there were a dozen extra casks of fuel in storage. Fuel that we used to steer

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our course back to Onis. ‘It seems we are almost home,’ I said to her, offering my hand so she could stand. She took it with a grim smile. ‘Remember your promise,’ were her only words.

I helped Elijah secure the craft and looked east where the canal curved round a ridge that hid the town of Onis. Lyle told me we were still some miles away from the town and ordered us to keep below deck until dark. Only Elijah was deemed proficient to stand as lookout.

Dear sister we were aware that Legosian troopers were operating within the area, for we had seen a cavalry troop scout ahead on the west bank. They had shadowed us for some time until we turned south and entered the confined cocoon of a ravine. Large magnificent cliffs looked down upon us from both sides, crimson in colour and colossal in height. Of course we were more concerned with happening upon Armintian forces, and two such barges passed us by without perceiving us a threat and so did not stop to investigate. We counted ourselves fortunate, especially since the steamer we were on was Legosian design!

I could not help but fail to notice the dissonance permeated between both Lyle and Amelia. The strange aura of discord had me quite perplexed but secretly jealous. Such hostilities can only be attributed to a feeling of the heart. I sat next to Lyle and eyed Amelia who was talking quietly with Annie. ‘What have you done to rock the boat?’ I asked which made Lyle grimace a smile. He shook his head dismissively. The sun was slowly surrendering to the grim splendour of dusk. ‘It seems her ladyship doubts the veracity of my circumstances.’

‘Does such a reaction impugn your honour as an honest villain?’ I asked.

‘Your attempt of humour does not do you credit and nor does your prying.’

I feigned an awkward grin and glanced again to Amelia before changing tact. ‘What are your plans when night descends?’

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‘We’ll abandon the barge and you and the ladies shall go back to Onis. Elijah shall act as chaperone,’ he said with a sense of derision. I nodded. It was as I had thought. I waited then for him to explain his own plans, for he had openly stated his intentions to enter Onis. He sensed my mood and produced one of his unnerving smiles. ‘I am a wanted man Jacob, which ever way I try to look at it I can not trust to a reward of clemency.’

‘But?’ Lyle frowned and stood up. ‘But what? I have told you I have business in Onis but that does not mean it is any of yours!’

Sister, long journeys and confined spaces do not make for tranquil temperaments. It should not have come as a surprise for tempers to flare and yet none of us could have predicted what indeed occurred thereafter. For when the darkness reigned and we made ready to return to civilisation I heard a hushed argument close to the Canal bank. Annie looked at me and Amelia laughed. ‘His pride is hurt.’

‘You accuse a man of lying, gentleman or not, he will feel slighted,’ I said looking towards Elijah, who stood still, with his dog in tow. After a few seconds I saw Rufus walking towards us, followed by an angry looking Lyle. ‘What chides you so to raise voices like a couple of wild children?’ I asked impishly.

Lyle spat, the spittle of his anger resting close to my boots. ‘It seems we have a change of plan. Rufus will replace Elijah as your guide.’

‘How does that constitute to raised voices?’ I asked It was left to the verse of Rufus for explanation. ‘Freely I offered myself into your arms, and freely I shall return.’ Later I learned the meaning of these words, for there was more than

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one brother who Rufus regarded as a friend. The oldest. The one I had yet to meet, and in the coming weeks I realised just how persuasive Roark could be. And just why Rufus had been sent to us. Though perhaps I can never prove it.

The short journey through the night was an uneventful experience. Soon after skirting the ridge we were picked up by Armintian scouts who presented us to Captain L’breé. His twisted face could not escape the distorting shadows created by the moon. He failed to show any modicum of delight when I presented both Annie and Amelia to him, though he did smile when Rufus stepped forward. ‘The Count has given me charge of finding the brigands,’ he said after the formalities were ended. ‘I have sent a runner to the castle, we shall journey there tomorrow my ladies. There you will be safe,’ he said as shackles were secured on the poet.

‘Begging your pardon sir, but this man aided in the rescue of Ladies Amelia and Annabel, surely that counts for leniency.’

‘I do not offer leniency or any other boon to outlaws. Any good intentions have been left far too late,’ he dismissed, leading Rufus under guard to a suitable prison. Amelia’s haughty countenance, one which had frequently been bequeathed toward me, was now directed to the crass old captain. ‘He does not even have the decorum to show us our due!’

‘The town is different,’ Annie said slowly, the clear night betraying the light of the moon.

I nodded. ‘Legosian troopers attacked and burnt some of the town on the day you were captured. However, your house is still in good repair. Shall we retire there for the nonce, before making our happy reunions on the morrow?’

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Dear sister I have no intention to recount such reunions to you in this here tale. For all reunions end and I do not have the time nor the energy to recount everything to you in detail.

My very body is failing me and I fear I shall die before I reach the end of this tale. If that is the case I urge you to seek out the facts for yourself and pay no credence to the slander that will likely arise after my death.

Let me instead move us on a month to the night of a ball, when life was much different to what fate has decreed. But before doing so I must at least fill in some detail, however imperfect it may be. It goes without saying that Count Loff was delighted to be reunited with his daughter. As was Lord Rheese with Annie. For my part I was given much hearty thanks, the Count even declared a ball would be held in my honour! He also gave me complete freedom to go where I wished as well as money and some fine new clothes. Yet the war still loomed and whether out of some bizarre twist of fate, we heard that Falore had fallen after all.

I met daily with Rufus, who was confined to his prison despite L’breé’s consternation and after much bargaining and remonstration from both myself and Amelia. I even found myself being her confidant, which gave me a sense of importance I was later to regret. On two occasions this was most apparent, and both were to do with Lyle.

The first happened but days after we had returned. The second I shall take with me to my grave.

She came to me then because I believe she had nobody else, for Annie had returned to Onis. I could see she had been crying. ‘You are not well Amelia?’ We were in the courtyard under the apple tree and were quite alone. She shook her head. ‘I am merely tired. I find myself walking the same old courtyard and find no solace. In fact I feel quite numb.’

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‘You keep a diary?’ I said, for I had seen it onboard the barge, though I had never witnessed her writing in it. She nodded tentatively. ‘I do, though I have not kept faith with it since the night you rescued us from de Poole’s mercy.’

‘You should return to it again, it might give you a sense of rest writing these events down. It is quite normal to feel different after what you and Annie went through. I’ve seen weaker men break through less.’

She smiled. ‘I should have listened to you, then none of this would have happened.

Seamus would still be here and Annie…’ She stopped, a fresh tear approaching the corner of her eye. I took a step forward. ‘We all make mistakes my lady, you blame yourself and perhaps for good reason, but that does not mean others were not at fault.’ At that point Amelia broke down. Though whether it was at the feeling of helplessness or by my own words that made her cry, I could not say. And though I should not feel a sense of glee at such a sight I must confess it made me positively glow afterwards. For as she cried she leant into me, seeking comfort and I dually obliged. I thought nothing but sorrow for her unenviable plight.

After a good long while she came from my embrace and wiped her eyes with a yellow handkerchief. The very one I had given her all those months ago. She then preceded to tell me about Lyle. Why she was so interested in him only moved me to greater jealously but I knew I could not smirch his good honour. I will not tell you his tale in full for it is not mine to exhort, only know that he had been wronged and he accused, in part, Amelia’s father. I sighed heavily.

‘What do you want me to say?’ I said helplessly after listening to her in full. She smiled knowingly. ‘Tell me he lies and that my father is an honest man?’

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‘I do not know either of them well enough to present to you an assured answer either way. But know this, your father only does what he does for the good of his country, and whatever presumptions you have of Lyle I know him as a good man at heart. It was his brothers who were the monsters.’

‘So you think Lyle might be telling the truth?’

‘I think Lyle has nothing to gain from lying. It was he who wished to rescue you Amelia, if it was not for him you would still be in Legosian hands,’ I said, hating myself for offering the very honest truth. Maybe I sought to downplay my own role in the vain hope she would acclaim my actions.

It was two weeks later that this conversation was addressed once again. I still remember it sister, though it pains me to do so. On this occasion we were in Count Loff’s library, for Amelia’s interest in Legosia had grown tenfold since her subsequent capture and escape. As a patron of knowledge and a son of Legosia I had eagerly offered my services. She had accepted wholeheartedly and we set upon unravelling the history of my homeland. What she then went on to confess I shall never divulge for I cannot betray her full confidence, even now, when I am abandoned to my fate!

I am a bitter man, and though my heart is black, it will likely stay constant until its final beat. Such is the agony of my death.

By the time of the ball Amelia and I had grown quite attached. Such a remark is not a boast or some clouded mirage. She saw me as a friend sister. What’s more I was somebody she could trust. But that is not the reason I write about the ball, nor is it because it was held in my honour. No sister, I recount the tale of the ball for two reasons. The first because just prior to it

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I learnt some devastating news, and secondly because at the ball I shall introduce to you a new face, one that inevitably put me in this hospital.

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CHAPTER TWENTY

Jack’s Memoirs...

And so what end did Moera meet? Was his presence sufficient to entice the rat towards our trap? Moera was a man of mystery and even now I do not know much about his life. I do know he was an agent in the pay of Count Loff. We were but a few days in Onis when he died. It was Eli who landed the fatal blow. He was incapacitated due to an unfortunate gash to his leg.

One obtained by the means of Roark’s sharp knife. He died with a defiant look. And led us to the rat…

He would be the man who would later see to our demise. He escaped, but then rats can be so very hard to catch…

Extracts from Turncoat…

Old Morcam was puffing but we took no notice. He muttered something to Nelson De’brant about taking a great care to avoid promiscuous women and bad beer. Hiding away in such a small town like Onis is not altogether easy. We five often split, either spending our time outside of the town or in the few houses still loyal to our cause.

As each day sank with the sun we all noticed how Roark grew more and more detached.

There was something gnawing away at his soul. Some secret he was wrestling to avoid. We all knew the risks and all perhaps had different agendas as to why we were no longer party to Armintia’s law. The ideology and creed of the common man will always differ somewhat with a learned scholar. In this respect a man who has been commanded by another will not always

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believe in what his captain fights for. We are all meant to crave independence, though this fundamental desire must not be confused with a spirit of freedom, for nobody is free in a state so centralised and despotic as Armintia’s empire. Until the empire crumbles man will always be condemned for his independence and shown the noose for want of freedom.

We five may have been free in a physical sense but legally we were chained to the shackles of the law, condemned to live outside of it so that when punished under it we would see no freedom. This is tyranny and it meant that for all our independence we were living in dark caves, unable to reach the vast planes of freedom.

Hiding in the gloomy confines of a wine cellar would have appealed to Morcam’s lustful tongue were it not for Roark’s stern insistence that all remained sober whilst secreting in the shadows of Onis. A single incandescent torch was lit, and we waited as Eli scurried out to make sure the meeting would happen. We were nervous, for although there had been rain, the floods hadn’t opened; something that had not happened for more than eighty years. Such an ominous portent was perceived by the differing priests as a signal for impending disaster. I myself did not see this as a conjugating factor. The kismet of the war would be decided on strength of arms and the skill of the commanding officers, despite what others may claim.

Poor Morcam was trembling with a leashed fervour such was his incontinent addiction.

We were taught never to stay in the same location for long, and certainly not as a single body.

We were vulnerable. We were determined. And we were expectant.

Eli came back with a devilish grin. He nodded to Roark who sniffed. So he was here. We had heard rumours and I could see the delight in De Brant’s gleeful eyes. I waited anxiously as the door creaked open and the silhouette of a tall lean man stood at the summit of the stone

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stairway. As he slowly walked down, the flicker of the torch lit his face, piercing his dark hair and grey eyes. A great smile stretched across his unshaven visage. All but one grinned back.

Even I felt a sense of delight. Yet our captain Roark looked at the man we all knew and respected with a hint of a scowl. ‘So my younger brother returns,’ he simply said as Eli embraced Lyle. Roark looked to the stairs. ‘Eli, watch the streets. De’brant the door.’

‘I see your ability to hold a grudge still persists,’ Lyle said looking around the chamber.

‘How did you get in?’

Roark pointed to a drain before shoving Morcam off a wooden stool. ‘Leads to the sewers,’ he answered sitting on it, ‘they still haven’t lowered themselves to searching the cesspits of this town. Though L’breé is a devious bastard.’

‘Will he die for wielding a conniving sword?’ Lyle asked.

‘Your proximity with women has made you lose focus brother. The Count and everybody associated with the Count are our enemies.’

‘Amelia is not my enemy,’ Lyle grunted, his mood now quite changed. Roark laughed with an acerbic look. ‘And what about Jacob Hilmai? The man who killed our brothers.’

‘Ah the Legosian,’ Morcam snapped with a twitch, ‘wasn’t he trying to catch us?’ he asked with a hesitant frown. Lyle smiled and stared at his brother. ‘We must trust Jacob, Roark. And you must trust me. We are not monsters. How Lok died reminded me of our brothers, the brothers you cursed and beat every day.’

‘Yet they were still my brothers. And Lok deserved to die. He was a traitor.’

‘We had our orders Lyle,’ Morcam said turning to look at myself, ‘and Talkville and Rufus did what they had to do. Lok gambled with his allegiance too many times and paid the price.’ I

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shook my head and scratched my cheek with unconscious uncertainty. What did Morcam mean by ‘orders’? And how was Lok a traitor? I thought we had selected him as a target because of his proximity with Count Loff. It did not occur to me that he was working for the Legosian’s. Lyle seemed unconvinced. ‘He may have deserved death but the way he died will not likely win any sympathises to our cause.’

Roark’s face contorted with a torturous look. ‘There is no sympathy for the road we have taken brother. We chose our lot, and whether it be the right path, we can ill afford to steer off it.’

I watched as Lyle started to pace too and fro, his countenance and bearing now much like his brothers. It occurred to me then that whatever secret Roark kept, Lyle held also. ‘What if we made the wrong choice brother, what if we can steer a new course?’ he gasped, turning with insurmountable melancholy.

‘We were not given a choice brother. Even if we think it wrong now, we cannot go back.

We either fight or we dance the noose’s jig. Remember that next time you think of her. And remember what we have become.’

A moment’s pause then passed, whereby I feel sure all within the room reflected on their lot. It was left to Dr. Alexander Morcam to disrupt the quiet equilibrium. ‘On a more positive note, we received your letter.’

Lyle nodded and I remembered a letter Roark had read to his lieutenants’ concerning five interesting and equally confusing points. I shall not refer to everything in that said script for want of repetition and will only cite the third point, which was of particular revelation now

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that Lyle had returned. It was thus written: ‘What of our well travelled friend, can we trust him?’* I had always assumed this to mean the man known as Jacob Hilmai yet it was clear from this meeting and from conversations past that Roark had never met the man and so could not possibly form an opinion as to his loyalty. It made me frown with uncertainty yet shiver with a new found respect when I learned who the real ‘friend’ was.

‘I assumed that you had,’ Lyle said, speaking of the letter, ‘Elijah’s men can be most helpful at times.’

Roark nodded, and I again was confused for this was the first time I had heard of the shepherd Elijah. ‘Is he in the town?’

‘He is summoning his Flock,’ Lyle replied, his back turned. ‘What of the rest of us?’ he then asked. Roark did not answer at first and I knew, like he, that our merry gang were but a day’s march from Onis.

It was then that the subject of the letter was addressed. Lyle seemed to know it already but asked the question, for my benefit more than any other. ‘Could we trust him?’ he asked.

Roark shook his head. ‘Our well travelled friend was as you thought. He led us to the new High Justice. The Count has already shown favour towards him. We must be cautious.’

‘The man is a menace, and a complete idealist,’ Morcam snuffed, who claimed he knew of him during his time in attendance at court. ‘He actually believes in the integrity of the empire!

And he’ll do anything to suppress his enemies. Quite a fiend. If we get the chance we should lynch him and raid his vineyard.’ We all looked at Morcam, unable to fathom his *

The more astute reader will remember that Talkville published this same letter in his memoirs, which can be found on p. 94. Talkville never said how he obtained the letter.

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unquenchable desire for wine. The botanist simply shrugged. ‘He holds a good table despite being a poisonous rogue.’ Lyle laughed. ‘I’ve missed your inimitable wit my old friend. So what became of Moera then? Did you kill him too?’

It was then that I couldn’t help but realise the complexity and ruthlessness of these two brothers. How long had they known? And how did they know? For yes we did. We killed Moera. Our well travelled friend.

*

*

*

Amelia’s Diary...

And so I confronted father. A meeting I had been putting off for so very long a time. I stepped into his study only a few hours ago and I left feeling utterly empty inside. Is this the same father that has watched me grow all these years? My heart is filled with such a hopeless uncertainty. Would it have been better if father had lied? At least I can respect him for telling the truth, even if the picture I had of him as a girl has now quite changed. No longer is he the dependable and reliable rock in my life. The constancy of a strong patriarchal fatherhood has now crumbled in a cruel siege of truth.

Perhaps in this I shall seek advice from Jacob, for he had told me Lyle had little reason to lie. We are set to meet tomorrow for my interest in Legosia is still unquenched. But what do I tell him? That my father is a murderer?

‘Come in,’ were the strong words he used, more as a command than a casual utterance. I stepped forth and eyed him suspiciously. I have already written at how delighted he was in

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seeing me safe. His eyes had lit with such a loving sparkle. He has rewarded Jacob with a ball, which will take place come Elimin’s Day week. We did not tell father about Lyle’s part in my rescue. That is until I spoke to him this night.

On that first meeting I still remember how Jacob had seemed embarrassed to accept so much praise. He had begged father to let him go and seek out Seamus instead. An adventure he shall now partake as soon as the ball has come to an end.

In contrast to that first day my father’s eyes were now dark, covered in a shadow created by the long hours he works and the uneasy nature of the war. With Falore fallen to the enemy I am acutely aware of the responsibility my father now has. The Legosian’s come ever closer.

‘What is it that you want dear?’ he asked tiredly.

In my mind I knew what I had to say but my tongue was quite unforthcoming given the occasion. A chronic sense of apprehension disseminated through the inner being of my mind.

Surely I cannot doubt my father? Then I thought about Lyle and realised he had done nothing to hurt me. In fact I owe him a sense of gratitude. More in fact, for I knew that until the truth was ascertained his integrity was forever threatened. I owe him that much.

‘Come girl do not act idle, I have work to do!’ my father snapped lightly, his tone still receptive. ‘You’ve been withdrawn ever since…’ He stopped realising his own folly. ‘I’m sorry Ameé I forget what a horrible ordeal you have been through. Your fiancé is brutally murdered and then you yourself taken amid a terrible slaughter. Every day I rejoice when I see you.

Remember that. Remember I will always love you. How can I ever repay Jacob?’

‘I know papa,’ I replied taking a step further into the cluttered room. ‘Rufus helped also.’

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My father’s eyes turned grim. ‘A fact that has only kept him alive up till now. Yet he must hang in the end. He and his friends have committed an outrage too many. In fact their very defiance is tantamount to treason!’

‘Father I must be honest with you,’ I suddenly spat out, quite forgetting my manners. His left eyebrow shot up in the same manner it always does when he thinks something is amiss. ‘I would hope you always are Ameé.’

I knew unless I just said it, I would never know the truth. I positively wrestled with the notion, eagerly searching for the right words. In the end I lowered my head as if ashamed by my deception and my forthcoming accusal. ‘Jacob and Rufus were not the only people who helped me and Annie escape.’

‘What do you mean?’ my father asked shaking his head, ‘Jacob assured me you were found in a valley and evaded detection by making your way at night across my scrubland. Just the four of you. Him, you, Annie and that villain.’

‘There were three more,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Lyle was one of them.’

‘Lyle? Jacob found him?’

‘More like Lyle found Jacob,’ I replied.

‘What?’ he barked. His face was wrinkled in a cascade of inbuilt and hitherto unleashed fury. ‘That bastard! I’ll gut him; teach him to lie to me!’

‘Please father! It was not his fault. He lied because I asked him. He would rather tell the truth but I knew how you would react. Lyle helped me. In fact without him I would not be here.’

‘It hardly matters. The man is a traitor! I would rather hang him to the nearest tree.’

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‘Father stop being such an impossible brute and just accept that he helped me!’ I shot back, my voice filled with a sense of shock and pleading. ‘There’s some good in him,’ I then said quietly. Father twitched. ‘What? Good? Good from a lowlife traitor? The man killed your fiancé, I’m sure of it! He’s a bloody murderer that’s what he is. I will not accept it Amelia. The man will be executed, along with his brother.’

I listened to his absurd tirade as tears began to break the watery corners of my eyes and shook my head defiantly. I wiped my running nose with my sleeve, something my former governess would have lamented as an obtuse lack of courtly manners. Yet I would not be thwarted. Not now. ‘Lok was an arrogant monster!’ I shouted, ‘I am glad that he died for what’s more I am free. If Lyle killed him, which he could not have done since he was imprisoned in this very castle, I would consider it as an act of mercy.’

‘That’s enough Amelia!’ my father cried, his eyes wide with shock, ‘the man is a murderer and I will hear nothing more. If he helped you then I thank him for that but it does not negate the fact that he is an outlaw and as such will suffer what an outlaw is due! Please give me the names of the two other men,’ he then said, as if the matter was closed, searching for his pen, ready to sentence Elijah and Amos to Lyle’s fate. He looked up, his eyes expectant and yet I did not speak. How could I? In hindsight I had no need to mention their role at all. And yet I will not and I did not tell. ‘You try my patience girl? It is a hanging offence to assist an outlaw!’

I caught the implication in his words and without thinking walked to his desk and slapped him. ‘How could you?’ I shouted, ‘how could you even think it. Lyle was right; you are a murderer!’

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‘Murderer? What an earth are you on about Ameé?’ father asked, his voice now quite uncertain, almost troubled. Clearly my words, as well as my actions had sobered him. I sniffed and wiped my tears. ‘I know Lyle’s past. I know what you tried to do to him. What you did to his friend!’

Father looked away. ‘Do you deny it?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he answered defiantly, ‘my Emperor ordered it and I willingly obeyed. As I would again.’

‘I see,’ I said coldly, ‘I thought I knew my father. I thought he was a warm, thoughtful and caring man. Clearly I was wrong!’ And with that I turned on my heel and marched out of the room. I went straight to my own chamber and there I cried for longer than I care to admit.

Even now I cannot bring myself to leaving it. How could he? He showed no inkling of remorse! I am sorry Lyle. Sorry for not believing you…

I write this the morning after the ball. Jacob has now gone. Gone to rescue Seamus from the Legosian lair. He thinks that Seamus will be released in return for a Legosian prisoner of similar rank. I wait with hopeful expectation. I watched him go with Annie, who looked radiant yester eve, despite everything she has suffered. Her physical bruises have healed at least.

I suppose I should recount to you the narrative of the ball, since it was not exempt of a little drama, subtle though it was.

The evening began with both myself and father greeting guests. Jacob stood to one side and shook the hands of all who attended. He seemed tremendously embarrassed and quite out

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of place. Indeed he did not take the praise of my guests at all well. The fact he was late on arriving has not helped mend the opinion my father now holds against him. As for father. I continue to regard him with a passive air.

The guests numbered more than seventy, a small quantity, but then in wartime I cannot expect a great number of attendees. An undersized orchestra played fine welcoming music as people gathered into the main room. There would be time for dancing before and after the five course banquet. I must confess I am quite bored of such events now. Ever since I entered into society at fourteen I have gone to such functions. And it is always the same. Men courting, women flirting and the old people gossiping. It is tiresome. It is a haven for scandal and debauchery, which is why I was surprised to see a priest in attendance. I had not seen him on the guest list and since this was a private ball I decided to investigate. ‘Lord Rheese invited me,’ he said. He was clearly a man of the educated class and wore his black garb and the red collar of his priesthood. He was an elderly man too, with wiry grey hair and rough leathery skin that had seen many years of the Armintian sun. ‘I do hope I am not trespassing.’

‘Not that Lord Rheese should be inviting any old riffraff to my ball,’ I said with a smile, ‘but you are welcome.’

‘There is another reason why I came,’ he then said, hesitating before continuing. ‘I am here to see the prisoner Rufus. I have heard he will be hanged soon and wish to give him a chance to confess his sins.’

‘You shall have your meeting,’ I replied looking at the man’s face. I do believe there is something familiar about the way he looks and yet I cannot place him. Without wanting to seem rude I decided to ask one more question before taking up the chance to dance with one

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or many of the fine young officers on display. ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘where do you practise, for I do not believe you are local to Onis or Fiojn?’ The priest smiled. ‘Everywhere and nowhere,’ he answered with a grin, ‘though I am set for Falore next.’

‘Falore?’ I could not hide my surprise, ‘but it has fallen to Legosia.’

‘And there are a good many wounded Armintian soldiers that are still confined to the terrible plight of the city,’ he replied. ‘I have been called there and so that is where I shall go.

Besides we priests do not take sides,’ he added tapping the side of his nose before walking off to talk to Lord Rheese. I gazed after him thoughtfully before shifting my attention to see Annie walk toward me, a smile on her face; something so rare these days, and yet so beautiful. ‘Jacob and balls do not mix well at all,’ she said, ‘we danced together just now and all he could do was frown. I do not like it,’ she said with a laugh. I do believe the connection with society is healing her. ‘But does he dance well?’ I asked, mocking seriousness. She shrugged. ‘Tolerably or terribly depending on who judges. He moves his feet well enough, even if he seems rather stiff at times.’

‘I must dance with him and see for myself,’ I determined, seeking him out. ‘Where has he got too?’

‘Outside I should expect, or escaped. If he knows what’s best for him he’ll be half way to bringing Seamus back,’ she said with so much confidence and flippancy that a stranger would not have seen the tear in her eye, or the way she turned her head and smiled inwardly. Oh what it must be like to love a man you cannot have! Squeezing her hand gently I resolved to look for Jacob and soon found him in the courtyard. Under the same apple tree he often sought for comfort. He was turning a piece of paper around and around in his hand and almost

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jumped when I called out his name. He turned to me with such a troubled expression I almost turned away myself. And yet I remind myself that this man is now a friend. And he needed me this night. That I know. ‘What is it?’ I asked, my hand lightly touching his arm. He sighed heavily. ‘Do you know the man from the Emperor’s court?’ he said, ‘the one your father has welcomed so freely?’

‘He seems well enough, why?’

He looked down at the piece of paper and shook his head. ‘Just something I did not expect. It seems…’ He stopped and shook his head a second time. ‘Do you know I have never missed my sister so much? I wish I could see her again.’

‘Maybe one day you will.’

He looked at me and his eyes told me different. ‘I will never return to Legosia.’ I smiled then and though I felt an urge to embrace him I did not. I feel sorry for him. I cannot place those feelings into any kind of context, but I knew they could not be exposed through the means of a mere hug. The scandal if anybody saw could be spun and concocted into an entirely different scenario. I would be ruined. As would poor Jacob. ‘What is it about this man that troubles you?’

‘His name,’ he then said. ‘His name.’

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Richard’s Letter...

The seven spirits are connected to the seven planets of old. That is what we were taught as young children. And each spirit serves a god and each god in turn ordains his priests. Except for another spirit, the eighth God, who claims to be the one true God. There is one spirit which is of the same God and his priests are not priests but men. And yet we ignorant lot still call them such. There are many denominations of this nature, for it seems even now when the one true God reigns and the other deities have been forgotten to history, man cannot decide on the interpretation of Judan’s Scrolls. But who is man to understand God? If he does exist.

I had visited Rufus prior to the ball and knew that his health was ailing. There was something putrefying in his cell and I could see that the Count’s men had beaten him, perhaps even tortured him, despite what Loff had promised. I also realised then that they had not asked me to do it. In fact the Count had frequently slighted me the days leading up to the ball, for which I can but guess. Sister it seems I was not trusted anymore and no doubt that vile man L’breé had something to do with it. Rufus had helped save the Count’s own daughter and had been inflicted to torture because of it. I vowed to Rufus that I would see it change. And yet there was another who seemed to have a tremendous amount of influence over the Count and the running of his estate. The new High Justice. ‘Forlorn your attempt will be, in your endeavour to set me free,’ Rufus chirped as I made to leave. I shrugged. ‘I will not see you die brother.’

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Rufus barked a mocking laugh. ‘From enemy to brothers we have come, what a terrible price it will be when you but run. I am not dead yet,’ he then added quite out of verse. I looked at the poor man with fondness before leaving. I had then hoped to retire to my quarters before the guests began to arrive, for I did not feel myself. And nor was I looking forward to the eve’s event. Even now sister I am sure you can remember how out of place I was at the functions back in Legosia. I fancied myself a popper and yet I was hopelessly inept. I was nothing compared to the prince and his dandies or indeed the king and his lackeys. And my regard is still somewhat desperate compared to the delicacies of Count Loff’s court. The people of Armintia spend too much time supping wine and attending balls. We men of Legosia are quite different. That is why every man, noble or lowborn do the king’s service in the army. I couldn’t wait for my turn and so volunteered. Such was my foolishness in youth. Not that I am old now, though my dying body feels it.

On reaching my room I saw Lord Rheese present, gazing out of the window with his hands pressed behind his back. On hearing me walk in he turned with a tremendous smile. ‘Ah Jacob, I am so glad you are back. I hope you do not mind me waiting on you.’

‘Not at all,’ I replied.

‘Do shut the door will you,’ he then said quite deliberately. He watched as I bolted it shut and then sat down. ‘Now then Richard.’

I froze. I had gotten so used to people calling me Jacob that I quite forgot who I really was. ‘Pardon?’

Lord Rheese smiled. ‘I know who you are.’

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‘You must be mistaken,’ I said defensively. The man laughed. ‘Oh do not worry! You think my name is actually Stapleton Rheese?’

I shook my head, quite put out, leaving Lord Rheese to grin. ‘I have been in this land for almost thirty years. And the years have been good to me. They even think I’m Armintian! Bah! But then who suspects a flamboyant old fool eh?’

‘Why tell me this?’ I then asked, still not sure what to think, for Lord Rheese’s confession was sudden, and my mind was still processing what he had just professed. He tightened his eyes suspiciously. ‘Because I already thought you knew,’ he replied revealing a tattered piece of paper. Stretching out I took it and realised it to be the note he had left me on the day we had set out to hunt for Lyle. ‘My own mistake really. I should not have assumed. But then what else could I have done?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The note my son Lewis gave you. The very one you have in your hand. I wrote it because I was called away to Count Loff otherwise I would have talked to you sooner. Then you left to hunt for Lyle and ended coming back with Amelia and my wife. It was quite clear on your return that he had not talked to you before his capture.’

‘Who?’ ‘Your brother,’ he then said. His admission made me stir with shock. I shook my head.

‘Impossible.’

‘Not so. William it was. Your oldest I believe. He came to me with information and told me he would contact you but got caught in Onis.’

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‘Where is he now?’ I asked, watching Rheese’s eyes mellow. The old man looked away.

‘He died yesterday after weeks of suffering. I visited him but three days ago and he told me then about your three other brothers.’

‘Yes?’ ‘I’m sorry Jacob,’ he said, his voice filled with pain. My breath caught as I understood his meaning. A tear soon welled falteringly at the corner of my eye. ‘How did they die?’

‘In a landing craft assaulting Crickery beach. An accident I heard. Though it was never made public. Officially you’re the only dead son. I had orders to expect you, but was told you would be making for the Emperor himself?’

I frowned, and wiped away any tears I did possess. ‘The event never presented itself,’ I answered miserably, my mind quite perturbed. ‘The Count,’ I added in a fractured state, ‘perhaps now, but I do not think it likely.’

‘Never the matter. I should have told you sooner but well with William still alive there was always a chance…’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I have said too much and lingered too long. Just to let you know that the man in the note will stop at nothing in killing you if he suspects anything. I’ve met the bastard and he’s not the type to offer mercy.’

‘Thank you,’ I then said, for I knew he had made a terrible risk in meeting me.

‘Mention nothing of it. Just get ready for the damned ball. We all forget sometimes who we really are.’

And there it is sister. I struggled to even think of the ball after that, but knew I could not miss it. And nor would I. I dressed in the fine new clothes the Count had given me and as dusk fell, ambled across the courtyard to the grand hall. There I stared at the apple tree and took the

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note from my hand, reading it once again. Already I saw people in attendance and I was soon berated by the Count’s steward for my tardiness. The Count himself frowned but said nothing.

Amelia simply smiled, amused by my evident lack of social propriety. ‘You are quite the hero,’ one old lady confessed to me as I stood with the Count and Amelia, greeting the guests. ‘Thank you,’ I said loosening my collar. She was the tenth such person to construct such a statement and the lie of it made me utterly depressed. This should have been Lyle, despite everything sister. Despite the fact he had his own secrets. ‘How could such a sickly looking man manage such a feat?’ I heard somebody mutter. ‘What a poor man he is,’ another claimed.

‘You are a quite magnificent fellow,’ one man said after shaking my hand, agog with praise. I myself was quite eager to leave. Lord and Lady Rheese then arrived and were announced with regal splendour. ‘How dashing you look. Makes us look like commoners eh?’

Stapleton remarked, looking to Loff who muttered something in reply. ‘Enjoy the evening, I cannot thank you enough,’ Rheese continued, quite forgetting our meeting previous. Annie smiled at me. ‘I shall be expecting a dance.’

‘You will be disappointed. I dance like a chicken.’

She laughed. ‘Even so, I insist.’

More guests came including a priest. But it was the last to arrive that was of the most interest. He was announced as the Emperor’s High Justice and the Count grinned as the two embraced. ‘Jacob may I introduce you to my good friend Eamor Hunt. He will be staying with us for a time.’

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With grey hair, big eyes, tall and strong, Eamor offered his hand, his smile boasting a fine set of white teeth. ‘Lovely to finally meet you Mr. Hilmai. I am sure we will get along quite well.’

I do not know if I smiled back or not, but inside I recoiled and my hand instinctively felt for the note inside my pocket. Do not trust him, were the only words I could hear...

*

*

*

Jack’s Memoirs...

On the night of Jacob’s ball we suffered a reverse. Roark sat with us. Lyle too. We were camped in a wood some three miles from Onis, for none of us felt safe in that desolate town anymore. Too many people off to war. Too many men dying for an empty cause. For a corrupt empire. Oh how it would be to see a republic! It was not a happy night.

Extracts from Turncoat…

‘A fiery whoreson he is!’ Morcam snarled, now an occupant of wine. Eli grinned. ‘Old Alexander has found the grog at last.’

‘He should not drink,’ Roark grunted. I saw Lyle shrug. ‘Let him have his merriment. The man is lost without it.’

‘And pissed with it.’

‘Wouldn’t be right if Roark wasn’t grumpy and the good doctor well and truly –’ ‘Yes I think we understand Eli,’ I said shaking my head, ‘so what now?’

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‘We depart soon and wait for news,’ Roark answered. I nodded. What in fact was the source of the news he would not say. We had all gotten used to the way Roark worked. And alas at times we all felt frustrated. Yet instead of deliberating on what our elected captain had in mind, others began to talk idly about nonsense such as alcohol, women and what would be done when all this had finished. They spoke with a naïve profanity which was likely heralded from being too scared to think rationally. After a while I was asked to contribute to the rather absurd conversation. ‘So then Jack, what the hell would you do?’ Eli barked, blissfully ignorant of my own mandate.

I shook my head, and decided it was time they heard it in full. ‘What I would do depends on what happens. I will not be content until our empire is replaced with a more democratic form of government.’

‘Here we go,’ laughed another socialite, before I continued. I steadied myself and took a drink of water. ‘Forming a republic is the only logical alternative. It cuts right at the heart of the despotism and the corrupt dealings of the nobility. I wish to take the power away from such people so that Armintia is proportionally represented. Give more power to the educated classes and more freedom to the peasants.’

‘And what about the urban population, the industrialists finding work in the new factories?’ Lyle said with a certain amount of doubt.

‘Clearly they have a role,’ I replied, ‘but they are already free people, first we must abolish serfdom and do away with this archaic feudal system that still persists within our land.

Granted some liberals have doctored it over the years, but it is the same men and the same families that wield the power every year, under which we must yield!’

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‘Is this what you wrote in your book?’ somebody else asked.

‘The general gist of it yes, but I’m afraid it was not a hit in Quor and nor do I think the emperor thought well of it in Elamea. The longer the nobility oppress the educated class the further this country will be thrown into decadence.’

‘An interesting idea,’ Lyle then admitted, ‘and how would you go about in changing this?

For I do not believe the emperor would abdicate nor the nobility give up their ancient rights willingly.’

‘A revolution from below. The educated class, the working man and the peasant must rise up together! Then after a two year period of provisional rule we elect representatives to govern this nation, creating boroughs and constituencies from which to vote. Active free-thinking cantons that would each be represented by a candidate.’

‘Nonsense!’ Morcam then spluttered under the heavy influence of beer, ‘you cannot have some provisional oligarchy ruling, it would be like substituting one despotic unit with another mischievous party. There are members of the educated class that are jealous and hate the nobility, and rightly so, but there are still more that envy them! It must therefore be a revolution from above my friend. Who else controls the armies? Who else controls the transport or communication? And anyway,’ he added waveringly, ‘your view is of the extreme, the emperor has accepted some of the educated class into his court. Some of them are very powerful men indeed. You only have to look at Eamor Hunt for that!’

‘A traitor to his class!’ I argued, for he was, ‘and the men in the army are like you and me!

Tired of living under the yoke of an oppressive dictatorship that thinks nothing of the common man!’

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Morcam laughed. ‘Poppycock! What about me, I was accepted in court!’

‘And why and how were you disgraced?’ I then asked, for I had long guessed the reason.

Morcam raised his eyebrow and finished his drink before eyeing me suspiciously. ‘None of your damned business boy.’

A republic is the only way forward, I knew that, and I believe I convinced some men to realise the inevitable too. However, most of these comrades were simpletons and would never grasp the logic and urgency of such talk. It said a lot when any conversation of merit we had was between two ex-Rangers and one drunken botanist.

There was no fire lit in the woods, for it was too perilous a risk to take when war was waged. I knew we were friendless on both sides, stuck in the middle with only the mud and the slaughter of the killing ground as friends. Some of our actions had even alienated allies within Onis. Certainly the murder of Lok did not help in this. On occasions it is important to admit to an error in judgement. We did not take into account the mood of the mob when murdering Lok, and for that we lost key support among some demographics. There were of course those who knew Lok’s character and were happy to see him go. In the end I rationalised the whole affair as an atypical scenario whereby a corrupt member of the nobility was justly slain.

After Morcam had said his lot Roark ordered us to break camp and move on just as was planned. It was emblematic of the way we lived, for we never stayed in the same place for long, especially so close to Onis. And now we were joined with the gang again, we could illafford complacency.

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We marched for two miles through the woods and into fields, following the course of a furious beck, frothing with intent. The floods hadn’t come, but nature could not be ignored. It was quite normal for us to march at night and keep the lowest of profiles by day. Nor did we intend to stray too far away from Onis. It was a usual habit of Roark’s to skirt the peripheries of the town. We all trusted him for he was governed by instinct and experience, and it had kept us safe thus far. It seemed a sad fate that this night would not end like the others.

The night was terribly dark with black thunderous clouds blotting out the moon’s supremacy. Scrub and bushes were scattered alongside both banks, though our side was slightly elevated, forming a ridge with further fields beyond. We had scouts scaling the summit whilst the vanguard trotted out ahead. Others protected our rear, making sure we were not followed. It did not help on this night. For it was too dark. Too dark to see figures in the distance. But that is not to say we were complacent. Roark and Lyle were never so when it meant the lives of their men.

On marching Lyle fell into step with me and stared hard and long with his grey searching eyes. ‘You are an interesting person Talkville, perhaps too interesting for these simple peoples.

But tell me, how many members of the nobility or indeed the gentry do you know intimately?’

I knew his game but answered honestly. ‘None, though I have had dealings with some in the past. Are you fortunate to know such esteemed dignitaries?’ I countered, knowing the rumour that was floating around the camp. I am now certain his mind turned to the heiress Lady Amelia, related to the emperor himself! Her haughty indifference to anyone but the aristocracy was well known. ‘I have not had the pleasure.’

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‘Don’t believe him Jack,’ Morcam beamed, slapping me on the back as he staggered forth.

‘The fool is besotted by a woman; it is all over his face. And we all know who eh?’ he said with a grin. ‘How was the barge trip Lyle my old boy. Invigorating I do hope! Stimulating!’ He laughed at his own bad taste. He then turned to us seriously. ‘Of course no objections here, she’s a fine filly and make no mistake, superb breeding too. An irresistible attraction for a thoroughbred like you Lyle.’ I could not tell whether Lyle blushed but he quickly grabbed the half empty whisky bottle from Morcam’s hand. ‘Perhaps Roark is right, you shouldn’t drink.’

Morcam stopped and put his hands to his hips as we carried along on the track. ‘Well how profoundly rude!’ he shouted, which made someone whisper for him to shut up.

It was then that it happened. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a man appear from the bush at the far bank and take aim. I cried out in shock but it was too late. A bullet hit the man behind me. ‘Contact!’ I heard people scream and we soon broke up and sought cover, just like Lyle and Roark had trained us. An ambush and a damned good one too. More bullets flayed, and I heard further screaming and shouting. Lyle was beside me as I clutched my rifle tight and he gave me an unsympathetic look as we hid behind some foliage. ‘Fire back you idiot,’ he hissed and I obeyed. I fired a whole round into the darkness and then another before shouting for more ammunition. As our carrier ran towards me I watched as Eli shot with cool exactness, killing three men without a blink. I was already shaking with fear when somebody shouted, ‘cavalry!’ from behind. Now I was positively terrified. I strained to look but couldn’t see and so concentrated on shooting at the far bank, reloading and firing as fast as I could.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. Our superior numbers and the fact we had the higher ground soon forced the enemy back across the bank with some of us offering chase. In

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the drib silence I inspected the damage and shook my head before walking with Lyle to confront his brother, his face flaring with anger. ‘An ambush!’

‘They were Armintian,’ Eli assured.

‘But not a planned one,’ Roark grunted.

‘How can you be sure?’ I asked, for it felt pretty well orchestrated to my untrained eye.

He rubbed his chin. ‘Because if it was planned there would have been more of them. They must have tracked us and then chanced an assault.’

‘Bastards!’ Eli swore. Lyle grimaced. ‘What’s the count?’ he asked simply.

The small, squat hunter shook his head. ‘Three dead, five wounded and two missing.’

‘Could have been worse,’ Roark said pragmatically. ‘Have stretchers made for the wounded and throw the dead into the beck. We cannot linger here; they’ll be back with force if we tarry. And call back the damned fools who have given chase!’

‘Aye sir,’ Eli said, shifting uncomfortably, ‘sir?’

‘Yes Eli.’ ‘They have De’brant.’

‘What?’

‘They have Nelson,’ Eli repeated with certainty. I turned pale. Nelson De’brant was one of our lieutenants. He knew our hideouts, our contacts. ‘I saw them take him,’ he added as Morcam walked towards them grimacing. He had blood on his hands and seemed quite sober now. ‘Not looking good for Simmons. We move him he dies.’

‘Bastard!’ Eli swore again.

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‘Aye that’s about right,’ Morcam agreed, ‘these men were tracking us. And it was that rogue Eamor who did for us. You see if I’m not wrong!’

Lyle shook his head. ‘I swear I saw Captain L’breé with the horses,’ he said though how I do not know. For it was so damned dark. ‘He’s not a man we should play games with. He’ll do anything to gut us,’ he added bleakly. We all thought of poor Nelson.

‘He won’t talk,’ Roark promised, but none of us believed him.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Richard’s Memoirs...

Jack Talkville came to me like he promised, sister. Though how I do not know, for he did not tell me the means of his escape from the dungeons at Elamea, or offer an explanation as to why he was allowed into a Legosian military hospital. He seemed sincere in his bid to see me, and perhaps went a little pale when I showed him I could no longer talk. He said he had a message from Amelia, though I could not tell whether he was telling the truth or not. He looked to my gaoler and shook his head, speaking as if I were deaf as well as dumb. ‘You are Seamus Croft?’

Seamus squinted in suspicion. ‘Why do you ask?’ he asked, hobbling to sit down next to my bed. Talkville unfolded a piece of paper with a smile. ‘I have here your parole.’

Seamus sniffed and looked up. ‘I don’t want it,’ he said.

‘Pardon?’

‘I said I do not care for it. What would I do with it? Who would look after him,’ he said pointing at me. I managed some form of a laugh and wrote something on my slab. Seamus grunted. ‘He says if I leave there would be nobody to stop him from fleeing himself, and then we’d both likely be shot. I’m his gaoler you see,’ he said with a dark grin. I do not think Talkville found our humour at all compelling and sneered. ‘Then I shall leave. Only know that Amelia says her promise still stands.’

And with that he left.

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Could it be sister that she will come for me? I do not think I can bear the agony of such a wait. It would kill me, though since I am dying perhaps it would be of a more merciful fate.

But how can that be when love is the cruellest of them all?

The road to Falore did not take more than three days. Armintian cavalry guided me for the first day but on the second I set out alone, following the road south. By dusk I was aware of a troop of Legosian cavalry watching me and I kept my distance, maintaining nothing more than a trot upon my beast. The old groom Patrick Englaton, the same man who was so relieved when I returned to him those stolen horses so long ago, had provided me with a fit young gelding. As black as night, he was well trained; a commodity somewhat lacking in breeding across the water. Scuffing his head brightly I slowed to stop, eyeing the Legosians further. It would not do to make camp with such men following me, for I would likely never rise to see the morn.

Instead I decided to steer toward them, make it known that I saw their troop and perceived their colour as no threat. They soon saw what I was about and quickly upped their rate to intercept me before I could gain the initiative. I was well learned in Legosian protocol and knew they would see me as a threat, even though I had come to them.

As they drew nearer on their fine chargers I noticed that a few Allici mercenaries were riding alongside. Though hard men and used extensively as scouts they are a primitive race that have yet to take to the rifle as well as her illustrious neighbour. It did not take long for their mounts to close the distance, a lieutenant leading the platoon. The thud of the hooves upon the soft grass reminded me of happier times, riding the fields of our family estate. I remember seeing you one fine summer on the outer glades picnicking and reading the

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biography of Ash-Hill Cotton, the renowned adventurer of Pulmese fame. I very much doubt the veracity of some tales hitherto proven as fact.

The lieutenant reined in his bay and looked at me with moot expression. ‘The parole sir, lest I take you for a spy or an enemy of the crown?’

‘Mount Fisher,’ I replied calmly, remembering which day of the year it was. The platoon looked nonetheless persuaded by my clear and confident enunciation. Indeed, they looked more concerned for their mounts, such were their equestrian sensibilities. But the officer soon rallied, glancing at his coverman before nodding. ‘What business do you have riding from enemy lines?’

‘The business is my own lieutenant; I am a captain of his Majesty’s forces and am forced to seek audience with the Chief of Staff, or Earl Reginald if he is abroad?’

The reference to two men of such venerated and judicious prestige alerted the lieutenant and the troop alike. ‘Cornet Dalquent take two dragoons and be so good to escort this gentleman back to Falore for further questioning.’ He hesitated. ‘May it be so good as to know your name?’ he asked sceptically, his innate reservations causing a distinct display of wantonness to the formal chain of command, or an officer’s decorum to a senior comrade. The serjeant to his left all but winced when he refused to use the suffix, ‘sir’, though I did not blame him for his thoroughness or scepticism.

‘Richard de Goúth.’ I decided that such candour was the sensible strategy to take, and though it wasn’t necessary I added, ‘son of Henri de Goúth, Marshal Roush’s Chief of Staff.’

‘You’re a long way from home, friend,’ the lieutenant offered in want of reply, his etiquette still somewhat imperfect. I smiled. ‘On the contrary sir, though I’ll be damned to

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explain myself to a lieutenant of dragoons. Let your cornet lead on and go back to your duties.

You are dismissed.’ I said it with such force and credibility that it took but a pause before he nodded and muttered, ‘very well, sir’, and went upon his way. At length I was left with Cornet Dalquent, a lance-corporal and a private of dragoons. They looked at me expectantly. ‘Lead on cornet.’

The journey thus was not an unpleasant one but neither was it of note and so I shall not belabour you with its tedium. Indeed the following day I saw the ruined walls of Falore, a great city of reputable standing that had seen the dark side of war and suffered its buildings ruined in consequence. Placed on the estuary of the River Sangt and as such of key nautical and strategical importance I learned later that it was taken after a daring amphibious night assault by the heroic General Harrington Eflow-Moore. You may recall he has a daughter, sister, or I should say ‘had’ for he died of his injuries two days after the battle.

The city itself is now a ruined tomb, for I am even now lying in its graveyard ready to be buried amid the smoke and spoil. My impression of this once marvellous city did not improve on closer acquaintance for the fetid stench and the all too apparent stage of battle and previous bombardment was equally evident. The mood of those locals who stayed and survived was as plain as the nose on your face. They were clearly a beaten people. And yet it was this city which controlled the road north, both by river and road. A mile further south stood the beaches and the sea, bloodied themselves quite remorselessly by the machine of war.

It was Cornet Dalquent himself who petitioned to HQ on my behalf; where once stood a mighty white palace, there was now a large grey mausoleum in its place. But it suited the purpose of general headquarters for His Majesty’s Expeditionary Force of Legosia. Such was the

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surprise of the Secretary to the Chief of Staff on hearing my name that I was ordered to His Eminence’s private offices without delay. There I sat and waited for more than an hour before standing as Marshal Roush himself entered with our father General de Goúth and his aide.

‘Well well!’ Roush boomed, ‘Reginald will be happy at least. He thought you lost or worse defected. Welcome home, welcome home!’ the Marshal enunciated quite forgetting we were in Armintia. ‘What news do you bring?’

I was quite prepared for this and stood to attention. ‘Progress has been slow, sir, made somewhat more so when I arrived and learnt of the declaration of war by our king.’

‘A mite unfortunate, but Reginald thought you’d be more believable without such knowledge. How is the Emperor?’ And it was there that I hesitated, for it had been my duty to reach the house of the Emperor and there play the role of the hard done by runaway forced from his beloved lands by a corrupt king. I glanced at father who stepped forward. ‘Marshal, Reginald’s last report told us that Captain de Goúth was secreted within the counsel of Count Loff and doing his utmost to thwart the Emperor by earning the trust of one of his most able lieutenants.’ I half frowned at the news but then supposed Stapleton Rheese had been keeping Earl Reginald better informed than I. Roush raised a thick bushy eyebrow. His oval eyes were ever bright, blue as the sky and in sharp contrast with his black hair and campaigning beard.

He wore the blue uniform of a Marshal with the twelve gold stars depicting his rank on both epaulettes. He is a big man of considerable build sister, though where there was once muscle, age has deemed there to be a less appetising substitute, such is the width of his girth. ‘Ah yes a timely report by a much trusted agent. For in truth we were deeply troubled by de Poole’s

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report. He said you killed your own countrymen?’ he added as if it was no more than a reference to the beauty of the sea.

I paused. ‘With regret yes sir, but I saw no other alternative other than breaking my cover. De Poole was warned and I told him where to follow.’

‘His lieutenant did as I recall and was set upon by wild beasts so I heard, for de Poole reported a most gruesome death.’ I breathed a sigh of relief, so de Poole still retained honour; for wild beasts we may have been but we were tame enough to crucify a deformed and dying carcass to a tree. ‘He followed the trail many leagues yonder and tells of how they engaged one of the fellows who managed to escape in the confusion.’ So Amos had gotten away sister. I smiled inwardly, but my face was all squalor and regret. ‘I wish I could have helped some more.’

‘No matter, you’ve done well thus far boy. But it does beg the question as to why you should break cover now?’

‘I have not. I told my guests that I would seek parlay so I could secure the release of a Lieutenant Croft?’ The marshal looked with blank expression to father, who in turn glanced at his aide. The captain, with blonde hair and green eyes, stepped forward. ‘De Poole captured him in the initial attack sir.’

‘Ah yes thank you Hanglu now I remember. But I still don’t see the issue?’

‘Croft is an esteemed member of Loff’s household, his late father was Loff’s steward and has grown up in the family since he was young.’

‘Ah a son he never had! Capital! Capital!’ beamed Roush.

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‘Yes something like that,’ I replied somewhat stretching the truth. Father nodded, his hair more grey than brown and his eyes tired though alert. ‘So you securing his release will win more favour and earn more trust?’ he said.

‘That’s about the short of it,’ I answered, still standing to the attention of my betters.

Marshal Roush frowned. ‘Awfully naïve of them to think you could just waltz in and get your man considering the cover story you gave them. Not trusted by the king and such. Deuced silly of them but a good trick,’ Roush said with an eventual grin, ‘your son has nerve Henri and I like it!’ I sensed then that the Marshal thought my reason a mere ruse and so I sought immediate compromise. ‘I see how it may seem but it would be better all round if I took him with me.’

‘Can’t do captain,’ Roush stated causing my heart to miss a beat, for I had not thought about any other possibility other than Seamus living, despite his horrific injury. ‘He is dead, sir?’

‘No, but in no fit condition to move. I’ll make sure he’s well looked after though, you can tell Loff that on your return. And we shall have to think of a plausible explanation for your arrival and safe return.’

‘A relative on the Armies Staff?’ I offered. Roush smiled. ‘Yes I like it, keeping as close to the truth as possible, that’s what they teach you eh? Captain Hanglu invent a…’ the Marshal thought about it and looked from me to father, ‘a Colonel La Rond and have him linked someway to Richard’s cover will you? Leak it out slowly and make it damned watertight!’

‘Yes, sir,’ Hanglu said, saluting and leaving the room. Roush nodded. ‘Good, good. Now tell me, what have you learned since your rendezvous? Sit as well please! Wine?’

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‘Yes please, sir.’ The Marshal rang a bell and wine was brought most diligently before I began spinning my dangerous web of lies. ‘Loff doesn’t have many reinforcements to call upon short of subscribing every farmer and man, but then his principality is in constant threat of uprising so I do not think he will go to such extremes. I do believe though that this southern army of Armintia’s is but a tip of a very large iceberg.’

Roush frowned. ‘All intelligence points to the contrary my dear fellow, but I shall keep your opinion in mind. But what of Loff himself, what of the man? Is he a soldier?’

‘Most definitely,’ I said, deciding to stick to the whole truth, ‘his vigour and vim in dealing with each and every problem is commendable, and he has a sharp mind. A fine general who has the uncommon knack of telling his men what to do and they would follow regardless the order.’

‘Yes it is as I’ve feared. What else?’ And so I told the Marshal thus. Some things sister, I told him out of honestly, others I twisted, for much to my shame I knew I could do no harm to Amelia, or Lyle for that matter. Roush was calculating his response and let me talk for more than an hour before he lifted up his hand. ‘It seems you have learnt a lot. You shall stay here a few days and produce a detailed report, though I think it best if you were to keep out of the general eye what?’

The Marshal folded his hands and rested them on his desk. ‘Now listen well captain, your inability to reach the Emperor vexes me greatly, but I see you have made good your circumstances and I like the way you have adapted to such events, moulding them to your prerogative, if somewhat different now. You shall report to Earl Reginald and then to your father,’ Roush said looking up. ‘For I am sure there is a lot for you two to talk about. But think

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on this before you leave. In a week’s time we are to advance on Fiojn and for that to happen we must take Onis. Your father himself will be leading the attack and so I would consider it a personal favour and your duty if when you return you could do anything and everything to help the advance prevail, understood?’

I did sister; I understood that now, more clearly than ever, that I was traitor to my country. And why? For some loose, attached hope towards a woman I had unrealistic sentiments for? What’s more, I had found a friend in Lyle, and I could not betray Seamus’s trust like I had Roush’s and my father’s. There was something inside me which obstructed me from doing my duty, sister, and for that I feel ashamed and unclean. For what can hope bring but broken promises? What can faith give but despair? And what can love do but destroy? I am imprisoned by those and many more sentiments, besides. But love is the worst, sister, for it bruises me. Made me a traitor.

And I feared it would kill me. For in a week our father would march on Onis and my lies.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Amelia’s Diary...

‘Often cries the lark that sees no way home!’ So says Horatio. But I understood his meaning more than once when Annie and I were captured…

There are so many things I wish I could say. I cry even thinking about it. I feel so alone.

Today I eventually convinced the Count that it would do me good to see Annie. He would be in Onis soon at any rate to see the hangings. With an escort of half a troop I arrived before noon. For the rest of the day I spent some much needed time talking to Annie about womanly exertions before Lord Rheese joined us for dinner looking decidedly fatigued. If the art of a woman is to deceive her husband into believing he is the head of the household, then Lord Rheese did not seem to mind. He smiled and laughed, conceding to Annie and then retiring to his study with a glass of brandy and a cheroot. I have always been a little perturbed by this man’s eccentric nature, though one cannot help but hold some amount of respect for a man who has done so much for Onis.

I write now and think about my life. Can one wonder what will become of oneself? Can I look back with regrets? I say this because I feel drawn, and often lost. Each day passes and goes and I feel numb, knowing that inside me a fire is burning, dwindling; one which I dare not relight. I cannot succumb to my passions for it would hurt too many people; cause others to cry, and worse I would be betraying, despite everything, those who I love. Can I do that?

Could I risk engaging such emotions because my heart has been conquered once again? There is nothing worse than ignoring something you feel, for it will only bring about a burden of

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longing, of uncontrollable yearning. Oh how I wish to be washed anew. How I wish to be happy and yet not hurt others. How I wish that I had realised these feelings earlier, so that I could put a stop to them sooner. But then I was not ready for this night, nor do I expect Annie to understand.

In everything it is hard to smother something internal, something inside you. I smile and I laugh but inside I cry and I weep. Every time the memory resurfaces I realise my mistake.

I’ve been so afraid, so scared to even admit the truth, that not even my dear diary knows my true heart. Even now, writing, I dare not scribe those words, for it would seem like a betrayal.

To admit the truth would open the floodgates of love. And I do not want to drown in the sorrows of despair again.

And so instead of pouring out my heart I will write in its place what happened this night.

For it has confirmed what my heart wants and yet what my mind knows is wrong. But writing now do I know my heart? Surely it takes another to discover what one really feels? And in all this I cannot help but think about somebody else. I cannot rationalise the foolishness of it all.

And so it was that Lyle Ramtk came to me with news about Jacob Hilmai as I took a turn around the garden. Why and how he appeared I do not know. I do not understand how Lord Rheese’s security would let such a criminal enter his private gardens. But then Lyle is such an industrious and mysterious character. Even now I cannot fully fathom him. ‘I thought you might want to know,’ he said after I got over my initial surprise, ‘that Jacob reached Falore safely.’ I did not ask how Lyle knew, instead I carried on walking. He presumed a great much by coming, yet I could not turn him away. ‘You are well?’ I all but croaked in a hesitant

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whisper. I felt his arm brush against mine as we walked and I shivered with alarm. He shrugged. ‘It seemed after our last conversation that you would not care if I wasn’t.’

‘That was because I could not accept what you said was true.’

‘And now?’ he asked.

‘I have spoken to my father and he has not denied it.’

His eyes looked down on me with a perceptive air I did not think he had. ‘I am sorry,’ he said simply and then shook his head ruefully. ‘You know I did not ask for this life.’

‘But you got it all the same.’

‘And I wish I could change it. I wish I was somebody else.’

‘Not a killer you mean?’ I teased, breaking with a smile. What is that feeling of longing called when your heart aches so much? What is it about a man that can totally confuse the mind and tear out the heart with an apathetic air of indifference? With a look or a touch a heart can be given away at a whim. Are we women so fragile that such feelings are forever taken? What does it offer but a despairing hope? Lyle may have looked at me in a way that I thought none other could, and his touch might well have frightened my very soul with a shivering sensation of attraction, but I cannot let such infatuations beat away at my heart.

I write and I try and convince myself that this will come to naught. But I am only deceiving my diary not my heart.

‘You still think of me so ill?’ he said after a long pause. How could I answer but the truth?

‘I do not know what to think of you. Why do you come here? Why risk yourself to simply tell me what I could learn in an instant?’ I lied. Lyle looked to his boots and scuffed them as we came to a stop. ‘Because my brother suggested that I should.’

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‘Your brother?’ I repeated with evident surprise. I have never met Roark Ramtk, but what little I have heard about him does not cover him in glory. ‘Yes Amelia, my brother, for I am sure you are aware of the executions that will take place at noon tomorrow?’ I nodded; how could I not be? ‘My brother has asked for your help.’

‘My help? Impossible!’

‘Why?’ ‘Why?’ I cried, raising my voice with a certain amount of surprise and shock, ‘why would your brother presume I would help him?’

Lyle hesitated, his eyes were wrestling with the truth as he stepped a little closer.

‘Because he believes you would do it for me.’

‘You? Preposterous! Why ever would he ever think that?’ I squeaked, brushing him away from me.

‘My brother thinks he knows me,’ Lyle said with a simple disregarding shrug, ‘and because his friend is to be hanged tomorrow.’

I stopped and sought for something pertinent in reply. ‘I am sorry for his friend,’ I said eventually, ‘but there is nothing that can be done. It is one thing to lie to my father but to betray him?’ I barked, trembling with the idea. I shook my head, still unable to understand what Lyle meant by stating his brother’s presumption. I stopped with a dreadful realisation.

‘Lyle why would your brother think I would help him for you?’ I asked, barely able to complete the simple sentence.

His eyes closed and he shook his head. ‘He thinks he knows me better than I do myself.’

I swallowed hard and frowned. ‘What does he think Lyle?’

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He smiled. ‘You would think it silly.’

‘Since when did you care what I thou–’ For all my resolve I could not bring myself to finish. He stared at me with those deep arresting eyes and I could do nothing but stare back.

‘You must think very ill of me indeed if you believe I have no care for you at all Amelia. Did I not after all risk life and limb to rescue you?’

‘And how many times do I have to say thank you for that before it is repaid? Do not use such an action over me Lyle, for I did not ask you to come for me, in the same way I didn’t ask Jacob or Rufus!’

‘But they came willingly nonetheless and so did I,’ he answered taking my hand. I felt the brush of his thumb over my palm and instinctively sought to pull away, yet something inside me resisted. Perhaps it was because I barely realised he had, for I was still gazing into his stare, trying to interpret every word. ‘Why…why does your brother think I would do it for you?’ I asked again, my eyes filling with tears and the dreadful realisation of truth. He blinked and perhaps there was a tear, or perhaps I wanted him to feel what I felt. Instead he stepped into my reach and wiped away my own. ‘He thinks,’ he started, ‘he thinks I have feelings, feelings of a personal matter. Deep feelings for...’ There was a dreadful pause. ‘You.’ Of course I hesitated, what else was there to do? For an instant we stared, gazed, and then reality broke the absurd spell. It was then that I reclaimed my hand and stepped away from him. ‘Of course, you don’t.’

‘Naturally,’ he replied brazenly, scratching his neck sheepishly, ‘I would never presume to dote on Lady Amelia of Fiojn, Second Cousin to the Emperor himself! Me? Lyle Ramtk? I

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would never ponder such a notion, nor would I want to, for a more self-indulgent lady there never was!’

‘I think you have said quite enough!’

‘On the contrary!’ he leaned in and without a moment’s thought kissed me quite full on the lips. I immediately stepped back at the lack of propriety in this man but he simply smiled.

‘Now I have said enough and know at least that I am missing out on naught!’

‘Outrageous!’ I shrieked, slapping him on his chest in a brave effort to fight him off, though he had long stepped back. ‘You… you hypocrite, do you have no honour?’

Lyle looked to the gardens and made to turn, clearly our little stroll had caught attention.

‘My honour was lost years ago, on foreign fields with nowhere else to go.’ I realised Rufus’s verse but bit my tongue; for all my anger I wished him to flee rather than detain him when Annie or Lord Rheese came seeking. I watched him leave and seethed with rage at my own stupidity. ‘Amelia?’ I turned. It was Annie. ‘Are you well?’

‘It is nothing; I thought I saw someone that is all.’

‘You look ill.’

‘No I am quite well,’ I assured, trying in vain to smile.

‘Even so you should go to bed my dear. I am afraid this stroll has made you lose all colour!’

And so here I am in bed. I have had time to think about it and I realise that it is hopeless.

One cannot fight against matters of the heart.

*

*

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*

Jack’s Memoirs...

Noon seemed long coming for Lyle and Roark. The elder in particular fought his emotions until the end. There was nothing to be done of course. We all knew that. We all cursed because of it. There are things that cannot be changed; even by those few we can call heroes.

In the end evil will always prevail, that is why life is so meaningless. The priests speak of light defeating darkness but I am yet to witness it. Though I must confess my life is hardly one from which you could deem to judge.

Extracts from Turncoat…

‘Uncommonly unfortunate fiasco,’ Morcam slurred, though it was only morning. He was hiding his grief behind the bottle. ‘Of course we shall attend it would be impertinent if we did not, for we must support our friends when caught in delinquent matters.’

‘It is ludicrous to even think it,’ I argued, quite against the idea Roark proposed. Our champion shrugged. ‘It is the least we can do.’

‘That bastard Eamor will be banking on us being there. He’ll be hoping for some kind of rescue,’ Lyle said bitterly.

‘That is why we cannot give it him,’ Roark grunted, ‘but I can at least witness a good man die, even if I can’t save a friend. I’ll go alone if I have to.’

‘We ain’t letting you wander the streets of Onis in full light,’ Eli growled, ‘not worth two good men dying.’

‘Three,’ I stated, causing them to look at me, ‘three men are to be hung at noon.’

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‘Even so you can’t stop me,’ Roark resolved.

‘I ain’t planning on stopping you, I’m planning on coming,’ Eli announced with a grin.

‘I’m afraid you’re staying here,’ Roark replied.

‘Why?’ ‘Because I need someone I can trust to look after the boys. I’m taking Lyle and Jack, and the doc if he sobers in time.’

‘But –’ ‘No buts Eli,’ Roark commanded, ‘do this for me.’

And so we left for Onis, the four of us, though Morcam had yet to fully recover from his morning engagement with the bottle. In the distance we could still hear the faint echo of guns firing in the distance; a timely reminder that the war still raged on. ‘This war will mark the advent of something new, something terrible,’ I said as we went, dressed in rags and garbed in terrible wigs made from horse hair. I had not shaved in four days and the beginnings of a monstrous beard was forming round my chin.

As we reached the streets, each taking a different route, we merged in with the crowd milling towards the town centre, where the gallows had been constructed. I noticed that Lyle had now given himself a limp and Morcam had covered himself in grime. Roark had covered his face and let the horse hair hang loose over his eyes. I myself had covered myself in pitch and presented myself as a beggar hoping for fortune in the face of the misfortunes of the three criminals set to hang.

I found Roark at the square and knew Lyle and Morcam were somewhere to the south watching, waiting. Waiting for their friend to be hanged by the neck until dead. Such was the

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harrowing impasse this noon. I acted like I was alone, taking in the view and watching as Count Loff came to sit in the stands to scattered applause, followed by Eamor, Lord Rheese and the two ladies of Onis and Fiojn. I saw Captain L’breé and a half company near the scaffold and lowered my gaze, though I doubted any would recognise my face.

The rather unfortunate and hideously gruesome event seemed to gather momentum when both Eamor and Loff gave two rapturous speeches talking of the perfidious nature of criminals and abhorring the activities of outlaws and traitors. The crowd seemed to warm to it and as the criminals were brought, heads shaved, jeers were echoed and missiles thrown at the cart they were herded in.

We saw De’brant leading the sorry three, wearing rags, while the latter two were garbed in all but a loincloth. The laws of Onis stated that prisoners were not to be tortured, which was why they were to be hanged naked. And yet Nelson’s rags told a story of pain and disregard.

He was, after all, an outlaw. With bitter misery I glanced at Roark who seemed to seethe with the bleak indignity of our situation. He realised what had happened. But Eamor did not want to show the beatings. He feared to misjudge the crowd.

Eli had told me that Lyle had gone to see Lady Amelia in an attempt to garner help. But it was folly to think that she would come to De’brant’s succour, even if she could. I worried for Lyle; he seemed somewhat sombre and even aloof to the hangings. I gazed at the daughter of Count Loff and watched her staring into the crowd with a clear look of indifference to the whole affair, though there was something about her eyes that spoke of anguish, even despair.

The judicial executioner hooded in black, led them to the gallows and a priest began to give them their last rites. ‘Not the outlaw!’ someone shouted. ‘Not the outlaw!’ another agreed. The

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priest looked to Loff who nodded, and so in his moment of death De’brant was denied even a sense of assurance to his mortality.

I all but wept as the first two said their last then were shown the noose and swung the gibbet. The mob cheered and loved ones suppurated as Nelson De’brant took the stage. ‘Give him his last due!’ the Count barked before someone could utter indignation, such was the tradition of Onis. The noose was wrapped round De’brant’s neck and everyone paused in anticipation. I looked and watched as my friend simply spat and stuck out his neck. ‘I didn’t talk brothers!’ he shouted before the executioner let the gibbet drop. I looked away, unable to watch my friend die. Roark stared hard at me with a grim expression. ‘We’ll have our vengeance,’ he said with bleak certainty. And I couldn’t help but think that such revenge had long been planned.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Richard’s Letter...

I teem with self-pity. I fume with want of profligacy. I flare with wakeful pain at my laceration. To reminisce of father stirs up unbearable memories; regrets, resentment. To even think of him reminds me of what I have lost. But I must not be selfish sister, for this tale is for you to cherish, for I am soon to die. The old priest came again today. He told me not to worry.

I wonder whether he believes what he teaches. I wonder whether I could.

Father and I walked along the battered walls looking out towards the distant sea, shimmering under the gazing stars. Two days confined to a room, writing reports, only helped invigorate the liberation I felt as I looked out into the dark horizon. Torches were lit betraying bivouacs, all the way to the harbour where a lantern flickered far out to sea. A warship no doubt, patrolling the coast.

Father as fastidious as ever, was clad in his fine blue coat with golden epaulettes glowing bright. He wore cream white stockings with firmly polished boots, black and bristling with shine. There was nothing out of place, tall, thin and lean. His hair cropped and greased, his eyes intelligent and sharp. He was fussing with my own jacket as we stopped to look back over the city. ‘It was a hard battle,’ he reflected in lament, the city torn by the nausea of war. I nodded obediently. ‘All battles are father, though the generals had their glory.’

‘Oh don’t be a rag Richard, we took the city. There was always going to be casualties.

And General Eflow-Moore did well to keep the butcher’s list below two thousand.’

‘Aye but the siege itself cost five times that much. How is morale?’

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‘High Richard, they know we fight for a noble cause, a necessary cause. An Emperor who seeks more than he has is an Emperor that must be confronted.’ I did not ask if he thought the same about a king, and simply nodded in assent. In essence I understood his argument and agreed with it. I am not one to shy from war sister; I have been raised to fight for my king and know that the status quo must not be tampered with. Armintian expansion must be stopped at all costs. I know, even now, that the Emperor cannot be allowed to carve out a new empire.

Legosian logic dictated so. ‘The empire is but a name only father, it has been many years since their era of glory.’

‘Yes and history teaches us how we struggled under the Armintian yoke,’ father argued, his eyebrow raised. ‘You are against the war?’

‘I am a soldier father,’ I replied forcibly, ‘but it is only natural to second guess when loved ones are lost.’

‘You refer of course to your brothers.’ I nodded and saw the grief inside him, despite his impassive stare. A long pause followed before father sighed heavily, a resigned expression that spoke of sorrow. ‘It was not long ago that I received news about William and feared for you when I did. He was a good man and died bravely. Your other brothers were simply casualties in the fate of war. They were willing and brave.’ It is often said that war brings about a melancholy that disturbs the soul. I could see he grieved, sister. And he worried for you too.

But General de Goúth has ever been soldier before father. He shrugged inconsequentially. ‘It is war son, we lose lost ones and must move on. Your sister will be well looked after if I do not return. I have a letter from her somewhere,’ he added as an afterthought, searching his jacket.

When he could not find it he smiled. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many suitors I’ve had

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offering their sons and a large amount of gold. Your sister is a beauty by all accounts but I’ll be damned if she marries someone of no consequence!’

I think he loved you in his own way, sister. But I shall not linger on family matters for they only serve to break my heart further. Of course I did not tell father, but I did not want war because then I would have to choose between the loyalties of my country and the loyalties of my heart. Such feelings, for a soldier, are treasonable...

Since writing last sister I have received some ill news. The surgeon has come this morn and has told me what I have dreaded in my nightmares. My wound has turned gangrenous sister, and he has advised for the leg to come off. The procedure will be done before dusk, which means I have a good few hours before they come for me. There is so much more to tell that I fear you will not know the end. The priest has told me to have faith, and Seamus has found a bottle of coarse whisky from the stores. I shall drink it to numb my pain.

But it does give me time to write about the conversation I had with father. You must not worry sister, for I was always doomed to die. I have cheated death for too long and in writing to you at least my mind has been diverted. You have been a companion these last few months, sister and I shall always hold you close to my heart.

‘Your friend without the foot is safe in hospital, though he has been battling a fever for these past weeks. I cannot vouch for his survival.’

‘As long as I can tell them he is well looked after. They are under no illusions as to his health.’

‘And yet they want him back?’

I shrugged. ‘He is well loved, and a good friend despite everything.’

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‘Be careful not to get too attached,’ father advised, though his warnings had come far too late. I understood his sentiments exactly, but until recently I was not sure who was friend or foe. I said as much to father who nodded with paternal understanding. ‘Perhaps we should have told you about Stapleton, but then you were never supposed to stay in the household of Count Loff. We have agents Richard, we have agents everywhere. For the best part of thirty years the Intelligence Core has been planting ‘sleepers’, and failing that, offering money to the most unscrupulous of the Armintian nobility; those with the least to lose or simply those who have an appetite for money.’

‘Surely the empire would have done the same?’

‘Yes they did, but early on in the war we caught several key papers and broke their codes.

In effect it gave us the names to all their agents in Legosia. Sure they’ll be others but for the most part we’ve purged ourselves of Armintian spies. Take the man Lok for example.’

‘What about him?’ I asked.

‘He was working for us.’

I frowned unconvinced.

‘It is true Richard, though we paid him far too much for his loyalty, or should I say disloyalty.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked half guessing father’s train.

‘He was acting the double. For a time he may have been true but in the end he took our money and fed us false information. He was no man following a particular fervour or ideology.

Nor was he a man of principles, we had to pay him good to get him to feed information, though clearly not good enough, the licentious bastard!’

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Who would have thought, sister? Perhaps in the end it was Lok’s principles and loyalty that made him turn his back on Legosia. His loyalty to Armintia. What does that make me? ‘A material man with a material end he was,’ father continued. ‘He was on the list Richard, and we sent agents to clean up the mess…’ he added, looking away and scratching his cheek. ‘Then there are still some who are...’ He stopped and looked up. ‘But that doesn’t matter,’ he quipped dismissively. ‘The rains have not come in force. No flooding it seems this year,’ he added, successfully changing the subject.

‘A lucky advantage.’

‘Lucky and timely for my march north –’ Perhaps I did not realise at first, the gravity of my father’s blasé comments, but it did not take long before comprehension dawned and I fully understood their significance. I’m sure my face was a picture of confusion and shock. I myself could hardly believe it. So when the reality of his words struck me hard, like a blunt axe to the head, I raised a hand to interrupt. I wasn’t to be denied. ‘I want to know,’ I said. ‘You said agents killed Lok, but I know who did it. And I wouldn’t have thought them loyal to Legosia.’

Father flickered an impatient eye. ‘Well they have always been begrudging in their help.’

I choked sister. He did not say, but nor did he need to. Roark and Lyle. Who else?

It could not be true sister, surely. They could not be Legosian agents. Lyle himself I had seen kill Legosians. But something in father’s eyes spoke differently.

So there you have it sister. I spoke with father for the rest of that day, but I cannot bring myself to retelling what was said. I wanted to show you that at least I was not alone.

There were other traitors. But I did not think like that until I confronted Lyle myself. How

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and why this came about I did not know for many days ahead. Yet a certain amount of satisfaction crept into my smile at the end of that day. For now I knew Lyle’s secret. And I was sure Amelia would find it interesting too. Tell her about Lyle.

Though my love for her meant I never did.

And now my mind cannot escape what is to become. Sure, I have not done my conversation with father justice, but you can forgive a dying man of thinking about naught else. I can hear them coming for me sister. They say more men die than survive and so I wish you love. You will always be in my heart. Come for me when I die. Find Amelia and tell her I love her, even in death. Remember me, I beg of you.

Your loving brother, Richard.

*

*

*

Amelia’s Diary...

Yesterday was a day I shall never lightly forget. It was the most unpleasant day of my short complicated life.

I cannot describe the terrible nature of it. My writing and my diary will not do it justice.

My pen hangs in balance waiting for my mind to gather itself. But it will not do so because my head is plagued by a cursed storm swimming inside me. Everything and everywhere I go I can see his face and realise the terrible nature of such a monstrosity. I’ve cried until there were no more tears. And then I sit alone, wishing I could cry again. Nothing moves me. I sit and stare out into space, wishing for the day to end but unable to feel anything but nostalgia. Life has

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become repugnant. Vile beyond contempt. Not even the comfort of seeing my dear Annie has helped in this. They tell a woman about war and forget we are human too. The feelings we have are real. More so because we display them.

So it was a surprise that yesterday brought about an assignation that witnessed or indeed betrayed a rare display of emotion on the part of a man. I sometimes wonder whether men will only feel when their heart is threatened by a woman’s. It was not my intention to see Lyle again but he made it his to confront me. Perhaps there was a feeling or a word inside him that needed to be proclaimed after the hangings. That was my rationale, though I was not prepared for the actual presentation.

I was to be travelling back to father’s. I would call the castle home but it reminds me too much of the finalities in life. He wished for me to be returned and so after a day’s delay I obeyed, wearied of being the daughter estranged to her father. Oh how I wished I had done so sooner. As prosperity dictated I travelled with Captain L’breé and a half company of dragoons.

But before we set out on our brief journey I met Lyle in the most unfamiliar of circumstances. For on the morning of our departure I received an anonymous note. It spoke of a shop front and a cellar. Curious, I decided to investigate. My mind was already made up. I would tell Lyle to leave me alone. Tell him his declarations and interests would do us both harm. Yes I was quite sure it was he. And I must confess I was not prepared for the monologue I received in kind.

On reaching the shop I saw that a man with glasses took residence behind the counter.

‘Alexander Morcam ma’am. Follow the door down if you please,’ he said with a smile. I frowned but obeyed and took up my dress and walked down the stone steps to the cellar. Wet,

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cold and quite ghastly – it would have been a mercy for there to be no light, but a half dozen torches lit the enclosure. And standing there. Oblivious to the scene or the setting, was the one man who seems to enter into my life again and again, whether I wish it or not. What am I to make of Lyle? The man is of no consequence and though he is all but a friend in name, he is an outlaw. Such a fact cannot be ignored. Not even by the daughter of a Count or the cousin of an Emperor. Not unless I too wish to place myself above the law.

‘What is it that you would risk a lady’s honour by brandishing mysterious notes, and asking far too much of someone whose father hung your friend?’

‘And yet you came,’ Lyle answered. I opened my mouth to reply but could not find a suitable retort. Unable to admit that there was an element of truth in this I simply shrugged. ‘I felt I owed you at least a visit after what happened to Nelson.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘Well than, I can leave,’ I said, turning on my heel to depart. But before I took even a step I felt his hand on mine and turned to face him, alarmed and yet excited. ‘Do you forget our last meeting?’ I asked shrugging myself free, regaining my senses.

‘Aye that I do, which makes me all the more surprised you have come here now. ‘‘Outrageous’ I believe was the expression used.’ Lyle grinned. ‘And yet here you are.’

‘Insufferable, unbearable man! I came here to say sorry for your friend. Do not think I have forgotten that you forced yourself on me!’

‘Forced myself? You were more than willing,’ Lyle snapped, ‘and you can pretend all you want.’

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‘Pretend?’ How could he presume such a thing? ‘And if willing means slapping a man for his indiscretions than you are more deluded than I thought! How could I ever feel for you? A rogue! A villain! An outlaw!’

‘Enough!’ he growled walking away. I hesitated and shot him a look of exigent contempt.

The expression must have made an impression for he glanced at me once before shaking his head, resigned. ‘It will not do,’ he said miserably, ‘it will not do that whenever we meet our conversation turns to arguments, nay insults. I asked for you to come for quite different reasons. In fact reasons that promise a peace. I have had enough Amelia,’ he told me quite plainly, ‘I can do this no longer. You have shown me that such quarrelling is senseless. If you do not know how I feel by now then I fear you will never know. I watched Nelson hang Amelia and I saw how you wished it was not so. I realised then that we cannot fight.’

‘But that is what we do,’ I said in panic, for I did not like where the conversation was leading. ‘We will always fight for we are two very different people.’

‘Please let me finish. I meant we cannot fight. Me and your father. Not when there is a war on. We must see through the past if we are to have a chance of glimpsing the future. The history is killing us. It is losing your father the war.’ He steadied himself. ‘And so I propose a truce. Armintia is more important than any one man. We must fight together.’

‘You would fight alongside my father? Why?’ I asked, quite perplexed and utterly shocked.

‘Because it is time for us to change. Because you have shown me there is more in life than simply holding grudges. Fighting battles that cannot be won. And for what? Honour? Pride? I

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lost my honour years ago.’ He looked up, his eyes arresting my own. ‘And you have shown me there is no value in pride.’

‘Me? How? I don’t recall ever felicitating such a notion on you,’ I squeaked, his hand resting in mine once again. This time I did not try to fight him off. I felt my breathing and my heart race. Was this what it was then? Had I been suppressing it all this time? ‘You think father will listen to you?’ I asked, breaking the unbearable silence, uttering at almost a whisper, lest my will break. Lyle’s eyes were filled with the drowning sorrow of tears. It is rare indeed for a man to cry, rarer still to see it. I realised then and now as I write that Lyle has changed. If indeed he ever had cause to do so. Did this man truly care for me? Was he doing all this because of me? For me? To show me that by having a forgiving spirit I would somehow fall into his arms? I could not bear the intensity nor the tears and so turned away in terror. The fear of a notion of intimacy quite shocked me, made me shake. I was as timid as a mole.

Alas after a long painful hesitation I heard him speak. Slowly and with meaning. He was not doing this to impress me. ‘I have written your father a letter,’ he said, ‘putting forward my proposal. Telling him that we must put aside our differences. Do not judge me as a romantic Amelia. I know you do not love me. But perhaps at last my life can have meaning again.

Alexander will see you safe.’

And with that I was gone. How does one respond to such protestations? Until now I have had little chance to even reflect on them again. I was left in deep and unsteady thought on my journey back to where I have lived all my life. To the place known as home. I did not understand why he did it, nor could I understand my own confused emotions. I have not loved a man since Henry and nor did I think it would be possible to do so again. I have seen love as

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something unique, something only ever experienced once. I have often thought about the possibility of intimacy since, but reality is dressed quite differently than the rose-tipped dreaming of a girl with her pen. Could one truly have such feelings again? Such passions? Such intensity? It was all I could think about as we went through the gates and into the courtyard.

The groom took my horse and I shook my head. Do I care for Lyle in such a way? It is impossible surely to do so. As I walked the steps to father’s study I decided that my recent ordeal was distorting my own trusty senses. Lyle could not be trusted, nor could Jacob for that matter. Lyle had killed Henry. But he had saved me.

I opened father’s door ready to tell him all, to tell him that Lyle had become more than just a man who had rescued me. I was ready to plead with him. But I cannot now. For on opening the door all I saw was blood.

And the tears on these pages are a witness to my pain.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jack’s Memoirs...

We as a group of men were sombre. Losing a friend is always hard. Protestations of loyalty were sworn thereafter. But they hardly needed to be proclaimed. We left Onis that day and headed south, with the notion of striking out east, intent on wintering in the vast forests thereof. We numbered two score or more that day. In but a few weeks very few would survive the wrangling powers of the law.

On the second day we had a somewhat little coming together with Armintian cavalry and then later that evening spotted Legosian dragoons spying us from afar. It was a perilous and tempestuous route we would be taking. For we were following the path of war, and grieving in the regrets of lost a brother. As we left the formalities of civilisation we were soon to meet up with an old acquaintance of Lyle’s, though I have never known him well. It was the shepherd Elijah.

Extracts from Turncoat…

‘Where do I begin? Though I am quite right on this matter,’ Morcam argued extravagantly, waving his arms in wild affirmation. As Lyle and Roark talked exclusively with Elijah, we who had not been assigned skirmishing duties or setting up temporary pickets, had gathered in small groups discussing away the languor of life. The tedium of existence. The mundane conversation of the simple man.

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I on the other hand had engaged in conversation with Alexander Morcam, a man who would be described as anything but simple. ‘I would have thought you of all people would realise the difference between a lady and a woman.’

My argument was quite the contrary and ostentatiously modern in its appearance. ‘I am of the opinion that to label the fairer sex such, shows a lack of respect and a debasement in the laws of equality.’

‘Bah you wouldn’t call a whore a lady; likewise you wouldn’t call a thief a gentleman.

The social boundaries of life have cemented these rules. You cannot merely disrepute convention simply because you are bored with the system. But perhaps as a republican I shouldn’t be surprised by your mandate on equality. Next you’ll be saying slavery has no place in the modern world!’ I eyed him cautiously, unsure whether he was baiting me. Morcam grinned and looked at me with sober exactness, as if studying a particularly remarkable, but odd piece in an exhibition. He had not taken a drink since the hangings. ‘You do surprise me,’ he declared at length. ‘For I would have thought a man who reads Capisrious, conservative at heart.’

‘I did in fact remark that his views regarding society were outgrown,’ I reminded him.

‘But my own views are quite liberal, hence my forced exile. Reform is what I crave and a republic is what I preach.’

I could not tell exactly, but I felt sure Morcam was nothing if not a little impressed. ‘I keep on telling you man, you should read Okel.’

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I smiled, then grinned, then shifted my weight in the uncomfortable feeling of deception.

‘I have,’ I said honestly, ‘for I am he.’ Morcam looked at me with the look of a scholar sniffing out a plagiariser. ‘You’re Ofal Okel?’

‘That is the name I sometimes take, yes.’

Morcam gazed at me suspiciously, nose pouting and lip quivering. ‘Prove it. High Arts of

the Governing Class, page one hundred and sixty three, line four. What does it say?’

‘You expect me to know my books by heart?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. Proves that they are not just words.’

‘Very well. “On these matters we should therefore be most acutely aware that those of

high birth should stay away from the temptations of promiscuous women and the ill-health brought on by bad beer.” Lines three to five I believe.’

‘Well I never. You are indeed the man. Or a rather fabulous ringer. Bravo man!’

‘Yes, but would you like me to end the paragraph?’ I asked smugly.

‘Not really. I know how it finishes. You go on to proclaim that these people do not purport to such advice. But that I already know since I was once a party to it all,’ Morcam replied happily. ‘Now I would offer you a drink but I vowed never to touch the grog again, may Nelson preserve me.’

I did not reply, for at that moment both Roark and Lyle approached, shadowed by Elijah.

I did not think it appropriate to continue the discussion of my past, for in truth I had written under many names before I foolishly decided to write under my own. The matters of my erstwhile existence were of little value here. ‘Elijah tells us there are more Legosians up

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yonder,’ Lyle said, pointing south. ‘I have sent Eli to scout ahead. There may be need to set an ambush of our own.’

‘And you thought a botanist and a failed literary protégé were the men to turn to did you?’ Morcam teased. Lyle smiled, Roark, as he so often did, looked at us in the measure of a growl. ‘No,’ the former replied honestly, ‘but if it comes to negotiations I believe you would act as a very able ambassador.’

‘And whose side are we on exactly?’ I asked, ‘just in the eventuality of avoiding any diplomatic hiccups.’

‘We don’t have a side as yet,’ Lyle answered with cavalier exuberance.

‘Yet? Does that mean we are open to negotiation on that front as well?’ I asked again, noticing that Roark seemed somewhat shocked by the notion too. Lyle shrugged. ‘There was a time when I hated Armintia and was against the war, but not now. Yet nor can I feel safe with the Emperor’s sabres prodding at me. I know you feel very strongly against collaborating with the enemy, but if it buys time?’

‘I’m not against the principles from which we wage war,’ I argued, deciding to put matters straight, ‘for we are fighting a corrupt and despotic nation. But we ourselves are the same in this. Indeed the way we have conducted this war only adds to the monstrous reputation of this empire. Fighting a war on a matter of principles doesn’t make what you do right.’

‘But it is a lot easier than fighting a war of ideas,’ Lyle snapped, before looking up to see the first scouts returning. His comment made me think of my own creed. In essence I was fighting an idea. A system that had cemented itself in history. Something as immoveable as a

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mountain. Lyle was right, principles moved men. Ideas, or new ones, frightened them. But in all this I must remain constant. The etymology and lexical evolution of language is likewise overwhelmed with uncertainties. But that did not stop Hutton or Dacose from uncovering the greatest finds in linguistic origin. Nor did it stop Celestine painting his visions of demonic worlds and innocent women wreathed in hellfire. Faith is also like that of a mountain.

Immovable and invariable. Others look for sanctification or glorification. I simply wish for justice before anything else.

Our company were a ragged lot indeed. We were tailored for the elements and dressed not for society. There was nothing heroic in our bearing. We were simply men equipped for hardship and as such looked like it. Roark looked rough and resigned, his dark beard scruffy and unkempt. Lyle, his dark hair cropped to accompany a travelling beard, seemed little more than subdued. The two brothers were burdened with the unease of command. A responsibility for lives other than one’s own, is not one I wish to hold.

Atop a ridge and looking down on the planes, we waited for the scouts to report back.

There was little advantage in us bustling forward blindly. It would not do to be caught between a Legosian vanguard and Armintian forages. We knew the unenviable position we sorry cast-offs were in. It mattered not from which side; if the sabre struck we would have to be vigilant. And we all knew there would be no negotiations if a troop of Armintian cavalry caught us. So that is why we were wary. We did not want to dance the executioner’s jig, or blunder into muzzles and blades of Legosian design. If Legosians were heading upon this road, we would monitor and assess. Which meant I would sit and discuss.

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Morcam and I argued about anything from weather patterns to the order of merit within Armintian society. They were not heated, merely academic, and in offering such discussion I began to regard the eccentric botanist as a particular friend.

It was well past noon when Eli returned with an excited expression, jumping eagerly from one of our few trusty mounts. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve seen sitting astride with the Legosian lot.’

‘Jacob Hilmai,’ Lyle replied with confidence. The answer somewhat spoiled Eli’s surprise and so our erstwhile poacher cursed in assent. ‘The very same,’ he grunted, ‘we tracked him for several miles before he broke off and began to make his own way. He’ll be here before not too long.’

‘Then we had better meet him,’ Lyle said, looking to his brother. Eli’s sceptical look clearly needed a qualification. ‘Do not worry Eli,’ the younger of the two siblings assured, ‘we know what Jacob is about.’

‘Even so there was a lot of Legosian activity, more so than usual. Didn’t look right,’ Eli added before tending to his mare. Lyle glanced to Elijah. ‘Your suspicions may be true old friend.’

‘I would wager Jacob knows more,’ Elijah answered, patting an old dog at his side. We all eyed Elijah with suspicion. None of us knew him and therefore logic dictated we were watchful. The shepherds have ever been treated with wanton fear. Though if perhaps their past merits a certain apprehension, it does not mean we should be gratuitous in accusations.

But then I did not know Elijah’s worth at that time. We were all hasty in our judgements.

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‘Here he comes,’ shouted one of the sentries. Lyle nodded and began to saddle his gelding. ‘Roark and I will go with Jack and Morcam. Elijah shall take control here.’

‘Alas brother I must flee,’ Elijah said, ‘I have yet to muster the flock and the call has gone out.’

‘Very well, Eli you’re chief,’ Lyle replied with a glance to his silent brother.

The four of us set out with haste and on descending the ridge we immediately sighted a lone rider form afar. Lyle took point and Roark drifted to our left flank, conscious that a troop could use the same ridge as a screen.

There was little we could do but head straight toward Jacob. He rode as if he had not seen us but Lyle assured he would have known of our existence long before our approach. We felt vulnerable despite our caution. The ridge was littered with rocks and arched round toward a cluster of thick pines looking out onto a flat plane of dead, yellow grass.

Jacob hailed us some hundred yards out and we waited until he brought his mount to a standstill. ‘How fortunate I’ve met a friend on the road,’ Jacob said with a smile, looking from Lyle to Roark. ‘I don’t believe I have the pleasure?’

‘My brother,’ Lyle replied with a wave of a hand, ‘and two of my men. How was Falore?’

‘Dull and decaying. Regrettably I was unable to secure Seamus’s release,’ Jacob added, his expression filled with sentiments of irritation. ‘I did not expect to see company so far south,’ he added after a pause, ‘and I am in haste to return.’

‘The Legosians are on the march?’ I asked, glancing from Lyle to Roark, who looked as grim as a ghost.

‘Their objective is Onis. The Count must be warned.’

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Roark growled with laughter, and after an awkward silence, finally spoke to the man that had killed his three half-brothers. They were not pleasant words. ‘A traitor as well as a murderer. Tell me, how much does your honour cost?’

Jacob stared at the rough brigand and smiled. ‘Not as much as yours. I need your help Lyle,’ he then said before Roark could find words in retort. I saw the murderous glare in our champion and shivered. It was not a wise man who stirred the wrath of Roark Ramtk. There never was a more worthy enemy. Nor one so ruthless. ‘Why should my brother help you?’ he barked, half spitting the words.

‘Because the Count will need your help! You are Armintian above anything else.’

‘No we are outlaws above everything else; in the eyes of the law we are no longer citizens. And besides the Count is dead.’

‘Dead?’

Lyle nodded in reply. ‘Murdered, we heard it off Elijah this very hour.’ The news was new to me and I looked to Roark, remembering his words only a few days previously. Did he truly mean to have his vengeance? And so soon? It was one thing to wage war against Count Loff but to kill him? Murdering a Count changed matters. Though how could such an atrocity be possibly linked to us, I remember thinking. We were miles yonder of Fiojn Castle.

‘It cannot be a coincidence,’ Jacob replied, digesting the revelation, ‘which is why Onis will need you now. Amelia will need you,’ he added, looking to Lyle. I could not speak for Lyle, but for me such news did not cause anger or resentment. Indeed, it gave me hope; for the empire was finally crumbling and with it the counts and lords would become extinct. Such titles were archaic institutions on the eve of this industrious horizon. Nor did I have a

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particular view as to our predicament. Should we help our country, our enemy? Or the enemy of our enemy by doing nothing? To me both governments were despotic, but the patriot inside me knew what should be done, even if the realist believed it was folly.

Lyle, pragmatic as ever, shook his head. ‘We cannot help,’ he said plainly, ‘we’d be lynched as soon as we set foot in Onis. I cannot risk the lives of my men.’

‘I’d hoped it wasn’t so,’ Jacob replied with a shake of his head.

‘Wasn’t what?’ Roark growled.

‘That you would put your lives before those of your countrymen at Onis. I may not be Armintian but I am resolved. Ride with me and remember that this war is bigger than me, you or a Count.’

Lyle forced a melancholic laugh. ‘You know I cannot.’

*

*

*

Amelia’s Diary...

I must confess I cannot abide waiting. It troubles my nerves. Waiting for men to come and decimate our homes; erasing lives at the whim of an officer, and at the flash of a trigger. I am scared, but now father is dead I have a duty to the Emperor. The Fiojn Regiment bearing my father’s name still stand strong and I am determined their lives will not be lost because I cannot do my duty. I cannot be colonel in name of course, for such titles are lent to men of less able dispositions, but I can lend a determined hand at an administrative level. There is nobody more able than an organised lady in times of great peril.

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I have been so busy that I neglected to write of course that Jacob had returned three days ago. I cried into his arms when we were left alone. I did not need to say anything. I only mention this now for Eamor has begrudgingly informed me that it was in fact Jacob who warned us of the Legosian advance. I am so proud of him. He does everything without thought of his own reward. And he was visibly upset when he told Annie that he could not bring Seamus home. The man has earned huge respect within the community for his efforts. The officers especially are thankful for his help. And Annie of course was assured of Seamus’s safety.

I can affirm with certainty that though father is dead he would not want his lands to fall without a determined effort to hold them. I am anxious and uncertain about keeping the Legosian marauders from putting aflame the houses of Onis. But we can but try.

L’breé and Jacob are planning the defence as we speak and the castle has been abandoned for Onis. Eamor tells me the walls are in ill repair and will not stand the heavy Legosian siege guns. So I write in the confines of Annie’s guest room, wishing father was alive. He would know what to do. Eamor is no soldier and I don’t trust L’breé. The colonel of father’s regiment is on leave and the two majors were killed in action so it is bad luck indeed that nominal command of the two battalions falls to L’breé, the senior captain. He and Eamor have sworn to find and hang father’s killer. That I suppose I should be thankful for, but why fight violence with violence? It will not help the emptiness father’s death has created in my life. And I could not help but cry away the tears in Annie’s arm again this very eve. She is a dear friend, it makes me regret the years we spent estranged.

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I have tried to write many times of the night when I heard the screams and saw my father’s body. But for me the grief is still too much. And in my grief I must think of Onis and our survival. I dare not even write about his funeral procession, of that cold white face, eyes closed, breath silent. It was not a grand affair, but then one cannot forget the urgency of this war. It dictates everything. Even the passing of the dead.

Later on this evening Jacob arrived and had a belated supper with Lord Rheese in the parlour. Annie and I joined them after, and we communed in an arbitrary conversation that shied away from what would inevitably be the sole recipient of our focus over the coming week. ‘It is never enough,’ Rheese chuffed through the smoke of his cigar, ‘I read reports from the finance minister’s secretary only the other day. Even if we survive the war the economy is shot to boot! Unemployment will be higher than it’s ever been and the crown will become worthless. We might as well not have a currency. You wouldn’t believe the scandal before the war, and it will come back to haunt us when this is all over.’

‘But that is what happens when the coins are worth more melted down and sold on the black market for twice the currency value!’ Jacob commented. Annie yawned with exaggeration. ‘Can we not talk about something more interesting than the gloomy nature of an impending depression?’

‘How about war?’ Rheese bridled.

‘Don’t stop on our account. I’ve looked at the books and know the numbers. We are outnumbered and outgunned,’ I said squeezing Annie’s hand tight for reassurance. Jacob smiled at my calm assessment of the facts. ‘But we will be ready for them,’ he stated confidently. ‘L’breé is no mug and the regiment have something to prove. And besides Eamor

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says a relief force is on its way.’ He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and stood to pour some more wine. On refilling my own glass he smiled again, his eyes sparkling with unadulterated affection. I feel myself privileged to have such true and trusting friends. One in Annie who knows my own mind better than myself, and the other in Jacob who is so loyal and safe.

Jacob took a sip from his goblet and sat back down. ‘Perhaps we can agree to change the topic of conversation then, though the one I propose is not of a happy nature.’

‘I was not aware a failing economy and war were of a different nature,’ I replied in jest.

He shrugged, offering his cup with the acknowledgement of a hit. ‘Touché madam, but alas I am afraid Eamor is resolved to hang Rufus in the morning as a sign that he will not tolerate murderers and outlaws.’

I frowned. ‘But he does not have the jurisdiction!’

‘I’m afraid as High Justice he has all the jurisdiction he needs,’ Rheese explained.

And with that I could not bring myself to answer. Jacob saw my anguish and told me he would not let such an intransigent act occur. I hope he is right. Rufus does not deserve to die.

Not after what he did for me. Without him, without Jacob, Lyle, and even Elijah and Amos, I would not be here now. Afraid and alone. But alive.

And I am afraid. I do not like being powerless, and I know there is nothing that I can do that will stop a shell from falling on this house, or any house for that matter. I do not know how to describe it. But then who am I to understand war? The shouting I can hear from my window does little to calm my nerves. I already shake with fear. My stomach feels empty with

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worry. I can hear it more clearly now. It is a serjeant I think, barking a command to his men.

There is an urgency to it which frightens me. It can only mean one thing!

They have come. With all my soul how have they come so soon?

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Richard’s Letter...

Oh sister I have survived! They say I was grappling with a fever for a week and more, so close I was to death’s call. I do not remember a thing, and perhaps it is best that way. Yet now I look down and see a stump where my leg was once whole. I still have pain but hope that it will go in time. There is so much to say and so much still to write. The doctor is optimistic and the nurse has put some fresh flowers by the side of my bed. And poor Seamus cried with joy to see me. Oh what a sight we make. Two cripples together, waiting for the war to end, or for our lives to be taken…

Father looked at me on the morning of my departure and it was there that we had our last conversation. Despite my leaving his talk was all business. ‘There is one other thing we would like you to find out for us,’ he said, joining me in the stables.

‘I do the king’s bidding,’ I replied formally.

Father twitched, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘There is one agent I have declined to comment on. One that was particularly close to the new High Justice. He did not file his last report; in fact he has missed his last three deadlines. Roush is getting worried, the man in question is one of our best agents; we’ve used him before on many different missions spanning continents! So you see how important he and his information is to us? He was last reported to be with the outlaws but now I am not sure.’

‘What is his name?’ I asked, hardly caring for it made little difference to me either way.

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‘Moera, you cannot miss him for he has only the one ear. He lost it at the beginning of the war and thought it would be too much of a tell; but the man is pure brilliance and he gets results,’ father added with an air of reproach.

I have not heard of the man sister, and I did not follow up the enquiry when I returned for I knew on leaving I was resolved to do but one thing. Help the Count. Help Amelia.

And in doing so turn my back on father and Legosia.

People will ask in their ignorance why I would do such a thing, but they will not know what I have experienced, what I have suffered, what I feel. I did it out of a blind love. Because of a feeling I had. And perhaps to spite a father, who has never once said a kind word about or to me. And if he did it would be short lived. No, I turned my back on home sister, because I now considered myself more Armintian than Legosian. And for that I paid with my pride and my flesh.

There is one other piece of news I wish to tell you about, which eases my conscience a little. It concerns a new invention. Father called it wireless communication. I do not know what that means, but he said we have the ability to converse long distances because of a talking device that transmits airwaves. It is how the barge made it to Florien Bridge so soon and explains how de Poole’s message warned them of our arrival. It is apparently a trifle compared to some of the new inventions that will win this war. I have written briefly of some already, though I never dreamt that technology would be the true victor in the end.

On my journey home by a certain amount of chance and perhaps some planning I convened with Lyle, and there for the first time saw the gang I had so hopelessly tried to hunt.

I told him of father’s advance and pleaded with him and Roark to help. It did not surprise me,

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knowing what I know now, that they refused. Though the pain was still great. Lyle after all and despite everything, was something of a friend. And the news he told me was a tremendous shock. For he told of Count Loff’s murder. Yes sister. Loff murdered in his own office! To this day I do not know the perpetrator, and yet I believe Amelia knows and silently weeps in the face of the murderer’s identity. Yet despite all this I could not mourn, for there was but one thing occupying my troubled mind; Amelia and how I could comfort her. Is that wrong?

I returned to the castle with a heavy heart, unsure of what to say but when I saw Amelia we simply embraced and she cried into my arms. I could not ignore such a gesture sister; surely I was not deceiving myself? Whatever it meant it only helped to enflame my heart in the dark caves that I call love.

That evening I knew what I had to do, despite the fact I knew he was a man I could not trust. I told High Justice Eamor of General Goúth’s advance.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said smugly, eyes glistening with a contemptuous gaze. ‘You reach Falore unarmed, spend a few days there parleying on Lieutenant Croft’s behalf, somehow learn of Legosian plans and then ride out unmolested! And I am supposed to believe that is all you did?’

‘I still have friends, family even who know of me, and can protect me.’

‘Protect?’ Eamor considered with a callous sneer.

I looked straight into his cold blue eyes. ‘There are those who sympathise with my plight, that think I was wronged without justice.’

His long threatening gaze made me think of Rheese’s note all those weeks ago. Do not

trust him. And I knew why. This was a man who would stop at nothing to satisfy his own

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ambition. His chilling smile froze my very bones. ‘Do you know why I was sent here?’ I did not answer. ‘It was to hunt down the locusts that are infesting Armintia, for Legosia have so many spies! Though they are confident I know of many and have seen dozens confess and then hang.’ I smiled inside. I wondered whether he knew of the agent Moera working for Roush, or of Rheese or even me. He clearly suspected me, for it was hard not to hide the fact that I was Legosian. ‘I wish you success,’ I said simply. ‘Perhaps I can be of some help?’

Eamor’s eyes widened. ‘How?’ I grinned and began to spin my web. Such a long and tangled web. ‘It was not easy to secure the information of Goúth’s advance but in it a name cropped up. An agent working on the Armintian staff.’

‘Who?’ I had his attention now and leaned back on my chair. ‘A Moera? Does that mean anything to you?’

Eamor’s gaze gave nothing away until a snarl followed a swift swig of brandy. ‘I suspected him,’ he said simply and something in his tone made me believe him. ‘Though he had been helpful, he was too good and so I decided to test him. I sent him to be one of the outlaws, to become one of the Ramtk’s confidents and bring them to me. He almost did but they killed him and escaped. I had thought he was true but evidently I cannot trust even my own staff.

Thank you Mr. Jacob, I am sure we’ll have cause to speak again. That will be all.’

It comes as no surprise that I despise that man sister, and so the news came as a great joy when I heard of his death shortly after I was confined to this bed, though I shall leave the nature of his death until its proper time. If indeed time allows me. For likely I shall never end

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this tale. I myself am weak, too frail to even walk, entombed in a hospital bed, waiting for my own life to end.

There was much to be done after that. I planned a strategy of defence with Captain L’breé who seemed to revel in the opportunity and the potential for disaster. It was obvious to us that the secluded nature of Fiojn Castle and the insufficient maintenance in its defence meant our stand would be at Onis, where we could fall back on staged barriers and if necessary implement a more manageable and effective retreat to Fiojn City itself. But if such a defeat happened then the region would be truly lost, for the city has no walls and is old and in illrepair. I knew it was not deemed strategically important. Indeed I believe the Count saw it as an encumbrance rather than a centre of pride. When the war began many left for a safer haven. I never once visited it. Nonetheless its capture would be of great symbolic importance to Marshal Roush.

Onis was bristling with nervous energy, sister. None more so than Amelia. On one particular night after supper, and perhaps too much wine, she came running into Lord Rheese’s study, stopping briefly to take in my presence, before barking hysterically. ‘They have come! They have come! Can you not hear them?’ And when she realised that we did not react in the way she thought proper she gave us a disapproving frown as if to say she knew better.

‘Why are you not out there doing something?’

‘You worry too much Amelia. The shouting was just a serjeant berating a young private who had forgotten to take his rifle with him on sentry duty.’

‘How reassuring.’

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‘But true,’ I confirmed, standing up to embrace her shivering frame. In her vulnerability she let me, and I knew my touch comforted her, which made me rejoice with the inevitable feeling of hope. Such is the cruel workings of love.

Alas she had cause to be scared for it was only a day and two nights later that they did arrive. And the battle between my father and I commenced.

Again I will not share with you every sordid detail of that terrible show. There are some things a lady should never read. But I shall tell you one thing; father had judged his march well and had caught us on the hop. The sentries barely had time to witness their advance and report before the first guns were fired. And we were not in good order to receive them. If it was not for L’breé we would have been done for there and then, but he pulled his men around and despite some heavy losses, stopped father from entering the town on that first morn. Even in death I may begrudge the man, but I cannot question his capabilities as a soldier; though I am glad Roark killed him when he did. He was after all, as Amelia once stated, ‘a most hideous creature.’

It is hard for me to describe the nature of battle sister, for every action serves to numb me further. With every life I take, a little bit of my own disappears. Those that I have marked in their graves haunt me, and those friends I have lost grieve me still. There is no rest when you have touched Death’s cold finger and become his master. I sometimes wonder if he is my only friend. In every battle I fought I did his bidding thinking not, that one day, I would join my foe. For those I have killed I do repent, and because I am still alive I shall tell the priest of my sins.

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The first man that I saw die was Corporal Bale, one of Seamus’s men and the very same who had been struck unconscious with Serjeant Aaron on the night of Amelia’s rescue. You do not need to know the details only the feeling I felt when I saw his lifeless corpse. Emptiness. I should have felt something, perhaps regret, but I could not. I was detached, immersed in the battle, worried with the knowledge that on that first day we were holding on with our lives.

And for seventy-two wandering souls not even that was enough.

Until Lyle came and changed everything.

Yes sister! On that very eve Lyle and his brother brought forth their small gang, and despite their size, tipped the balance in our favour with a daring and ruthlessness I had not seen before. These were Rangers. And they knew the art of killing well.

The shock I felt was eclipsed by a feeling of relief and elation. Five of Lyle’s men were killed when fighting through to the town, but for every man we lost, ten Legosians met their end; such was the ferocity of Lyle’s counterattack. In nautical terms it would be called a raking and that is what happened at dusk that night. Men with rifles and swords pounced unannounced at the rear of father’s men and caused panic, mayhem and slaughter, ripping through the four battalions father had brought with him. Men were covered in blood as they reached the town. Others were missing limbs or were badly wounded. I saw an outlaw carried by two of his comrades holding his stomach lest it slip out. This is what battle is like, sister.

I recognised one of Lyle’s lieutenants trying to clean a wound, his own blood running down his face. He looked at me and shouted for alcohol. ‘I need spirits man to stop infection!’

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‘Where is Lyle?’ I asked, resisting the urge to do his bidding. The surgeon shrugged. ‘Was with Elijah’s Flock. Think they’re going to try and lead some troopers off down the track.’

The grey night was dominated by the hammering noise of bullets smacking into walls and flesh. I ran down a half street and stopped dead as a mortar shell exploded only feet away.

The fright I felt and the ring in my ears made me want to vomit. But then as I turned a corner I saw L’breé’s men firing into the front line as more of Lyle’s men came in from the east.

‘They’ll be firing those mortars all night if we don’t do something,’ a voice muttered at my shoulder. I turned to see the battered figure of Lyle and with a wide grin embraced him, taking him quite by surprise. ‘You and your men are saints!’ I exclaimed overjoyed. Lyle shrugged and walked with me off the main street. ‘I had some help from friends, many who have paid with their lives.’

I could only hope it would be enough and told him I appreciated the sacrifice and so would all of Onis. They were the right words to say, though that did not make it any easier to proclaim. We walked back into the square where the surgeon, now aided by the regiment’s doctor, were tending to the wounded. ‘I’ll have some of my own deal with the mortars,’ Lyle was saying as we reached the surgeon’s table. ‘What’s the bill Morcam?’

‘I have ten wounded and two that won’t make it,’ he explained, sewing up a lacerated thigh. ‘Though I wish I hadn’t got rid of all my liquor. Chose a great time to hit the tea!’

Lyle took a silver hipflask from his jacket and handed it to the eccentric doctor. ‘Here have this.’

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‘Most obliged,’ Morcam replied, grabbing it and draining half the contents down his throat before pouring some on a man’s bullet wound. ‘Scream all you want man, better than coming to me with an infection.’

‘Dr. Alexander Morcam is our company’s surgeon. A botanist by trade though he seems to have made the transition without any real mayhap.’

‘Damn this night! More light!’ Morcam shouted as Lyle turned me away. We heard a second mortar fall to the south of the town and I feared for Amelia’s safety. I was about to suggest we take supper there when Eamor marched into the square with four guards, looking as unbendable as a rifleman’s bayonet. ‘Serjeant arrest that man!’ he commanded pointing to Lyle.

‘Belay that Serjeant Aaron!’ I shouted as the guards began to muster. Eamor’s face broke into a terrible storm of rage. ‘How dare you!’

‘On the contrary how dare you!’ I replied. ‘You have no military precedent or rank and yet you presume to arrest this man?’

‘This is a civil matter Mr. Hilmai,’ Eamor pronounced tetchily. ‘And I am the High Justice. I need no precedent and my title gives me more than enough weight in these matters,’ he added looking at Lyle and snarling with contempt, despite the dying bodies and the pounding of guns.

‘A battle is raging and until it has stopped all outlaws will not be touched!’ I answered bravely.

‘He is an outlaw!’

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‘He is a soldier first, and as such more use to us than you this night. Now leave us or I shall write a report to the Emperor himself explaining how you wished to arrest the men who have saved this town!’

Eamor, sensing the mood of his guards and noticing the movement of several figures from the square, looked at me and growled. ‘So be it! But know this! When this battle is done these men are mine!’

‘You’ve made yourself a friend,’ Lyle whispered moments later, acting as if the confrontation meant nothing to him. I turned to see his brother Roark emerge from the shadows, covered in someone else’s blood. ‘I have a score to settle with that parasite before this is over,’ he said, wiping a knife clean on his leg. ‘Suppose you’ll want those mortars shifting now,’ he grunted, finding a flask of water and draining it to the sound of another shell hitting a building close by. I looked to Lyle who nodded. ‘If you need my services I’ll be having supper with Mr. Hilmai. Where do we dine Jacob?’ he said turning to me. ‘I remember with fondness a nice little restaurant quite close to this square.’

‘Under rubble now,’ Roark stated without emotion, turning to leave. ‘Eli bring that rifle of yours, we have some work to do.’ He looked at us and nodded our way with a judging glance. ‘Enjoy your food.’

‘So where is it that we do go?’ Lyle asked with the tone of a soldier who had become numb to battle. I looked to the dying men nervously. ‘Lord Rheese will welcome us I’m sure.’

The mortars stopped firing some time after midnight. By then we had left Lord Rheese’s abode and had made an inspection of the front defences. Old Stapleton had welcomed us well

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enough, and Amelia soon perked up when she saw Lyle presented in the drawing room. ‘Who would have thought eh?’ Rheese stated, ‘an outlaw in my own house. What would the Emperor say!’ he added, looking at me with a grin. Though his mood was jovial it was plain that the Governor of Onis had not been becalmed since the bombardment began. An evident example presented itself when we came to dine. For it was unmistakable that a large iron shelter, designed by Stapleton himself, was now acting as table for supper. ‘Thought I’d get this from the cellar, cheese and biscuits okay? And do have some ham. It was cooked two days ago and it seems a terrible shame for it to go to waste.’ He leaned close to me. ‘I’m afraid the grocer is done for and I want to leave the rump of beef for a victory meal. How goes the battle? A runner did inform me of the new addition to our defences,’ he added, pointing a folk at Lyle.

‘How do you take your wine Lyle, red or white?’

‘White,’ Lyle replied.

‘A true Armintian!’ Rheese snorted. ‘This is from the Emperor’s own vineyards,’ he added, pouring a glass. I smiled and glanced to Amelia who was now talking fervently with Lyle. Her eyes were caught in the prison of Lyle’s character. Oh how could I have been such a fool? My own folly was staring at me across the table. She might not have even known it sister, but I knew Amelia’s heart beat for Lyle Ramtk. I could have told her there and then that Lyle was a traitor but what good would that do? I was one myself. A fact Lyle knew too well. The agony of my soul is such that I cannot even bring myself to report to you the conversation they had. Trivial I am sure, but intimate and alluring all the same. It is with a pain that Annie realised the predicament, and on understanding my suffering, squeezed my hand. ‘Yours will come,’ she said quietly.

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‘You see too much,’ I said with a smile.

‘And too late to stop it,’ she replied with a regretful tone.

That night many men could not sleep, knowing that death might come for them at dawn.

Two hours after midnight a temporary truce was called, so that the wounded could be fetched from the field of battle. I knew that father had need of splitting his force in order to pursue this man known as Elijah and his Flock. With that it should have been a reassuring night, but how can any be calmed by the prospect of an intermittent peace? Soldier’s rightly dreamed of their deaths and screamed with fright. Yet I slept not, because inside my heart was black. In fact my mind was such that I welcomed death that morn.

With a determination one has when broken, I sought out the street where I knew the fighting would reach its apex. Perhaps I could not find peace in life and so I would find it in death. I could see that Annie had noticed my change in mood and I can only weep when I exclaim that Amelia did not. She had eyes only for Lyle. The same man who insisted at being at my shoulder, but not because of any bleak suicidal intention. No sister, he came because from within he held a heroic disposition that is found in very few worthy men.

As the truce was set to end with the breaking of dawn, we were joined by the botanist Morcam and the intellect Jack Talkville. ‘Your brother stopped the mortars then,’ I said gloomily, waiting for the chasms of hell to break forth and swallow me whole. Lyle signalled his assent and edged a little closer to the barricade. ‘There are none better than he or Eli when the sun has gone to rest. Vipers in the dark, spitting their bullets with poisonous accuracy.’

‘Said like a true poet,’ I grunted bitterly.

‘And how is Rufus?’ Lyle asked, anxious to know the plight of his friend.

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‘If the gaol still stands then he lives. I had tried releasing him when the battle commenced but Eamor was having none of it.’

‘A stubborn fool,’ Morcam commented airily, ‘I wonder that Phillé even considered painting his portrait.’

‘Money will tempt even the greatest of men,’ Talkville reasoned, clearly knowing that it would incite a reaction from Morcam. The botanist simply shook his head. ‘I did not say Phillé was great per se, only lacking in judgement. Now Gabriel, he is an artist of the finest quality.

His strokes are that of a true master at work.’

‘Gabriel is a fabricator who has no vision. Lewes Moon is the new visionary and you well know it!’

‘That young upstart! He thinks he can change five hundred years of skill simply because his artistry his impotent, much like himself!’ Morcam argued with a vigour I had not thought possible prior to the din of battle. I had heard of such men and had thought all to be inferior to the artists of Legosia and I said as much. Talkville looked at me as if I were a simpleton. I decided not to tell him father owned two paintings by this man he championed: This Lewes Moon. ‘Coarse and vulgar works the lot.’

‘I disagree,’ I challenged.

Talkville laughed. ‘Disagree all you want, they are plagiarisers and frolicking womanisers that think being an artist is tantamount to eccentricity and debauchery. And your weasel of a king allows it!’

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‘And the weasel king’s troops can hear from the other side of the promenade,’ Lyle said, putting an end to the ridiculous conversation. ‘You must forgive these two Jacob; they will take every opportunity to argue, even in the midst of battle, such is their mutual fondness.’

I laughed and with it noticed Talkville staring at me with a gaze as sharp as a rapier, and Morcam beam with the knowledge that he had neither won, but more importantly, had not lost the argument.

And then the rifles fired.

‘Artists of a military nature do intrigue me though,’ Morcam said conversationally, firing back, knowing that the most famous of all came from the shores of Legosia. I did not have time to reply and instead sought my target and took the life of a man who would not see another morn. ‘I wonder how they would paint this battle for instance.’

‘One can’t paint an unfinished battle,’ Talkville grunted rising to the bait. He was slow to use his rifle and as the sun slowly brought light from the east I could only imagine what Death might paint come dusk.

With the thought of such talk now quite forgotten, I set to my task, and quickly sought to close in on my enemy; my father’s men; my own countrymen. It was not something I could forget. And yet I was determined that a bullet might find a way into my heart. Anything to dislodge what was festering there deep within. Which still festers now.

And my plan might have worked if Lyle had not been my coverman that day.

Every time I planted myself into the path of death Lyle rescued me, until it became quite obvious our hasty and irrational tactics were doing the Legosian troopers a harm that bordered on a daring massacre. Dozens must have died through the carelessness of our skill. And when I

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realised such, the urgency to live became addictive. I knew that I could not wallow on the point of a blade or the catch of a bullet. Seeking death is not the answer when there is fulfilment to have in life.

I feel nothing of course now. My heart is black. Black as the souls that were lost to this world. Slaughtered on the field of battle. For on that day we fought like demons. From dawn till dusk I saw men die, kill and be killed. The wounded outgrew the healthy, and as the sun faded I felt weak and exhausted. So it came as no surprise when a shell exploded close to our rally point, slicing my face open and taking four fingers from my left hand.

It came as no surprise because I never saw it coming.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jack’s Memoirs...

And so to the battle of Onis. The brave sacrifice. Two hundred and fifty-eight marked graves form part of the Onis memorial. It is telling that the outlaws were buried alongside soldiers of the emperor. A fitting tribute to those that fought side by side for two days and two nights. Yet in the official histories one aspect of that battle has never been mentioned. Those of the Flock; they harried General de Goúth’s men from one flank so that we could hold the town on the other. But nobody writes of their exploits, of their sacrifice. Of the fifty repatriated that died for an empire who denied their existence. Who brought them back to Armintia, only to enslave them.

But for me the battle holds memories of a more personal note because of the man known now as Richard de Goúth. What were my first impressions of such a famed spy? Many have tried to rational his life. Was he a hero or a traitor? He was likely both, but I saw a darkness in him that revolted me. His complete coldness in the face of battle was accentuated during the battle of Onis. He fought without any regard for his life or those with him. He was like a fiery bull who kicked and spat, locking horns with the enemy with a blind red rage. This was no gentleman. Just a man intent on dealing out the card of death.

And one outrageous incident even broke the rules of war.

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Extracts from Turncoat…

Jacob and Lyle fired their rifles with the skill of men who did not think what destruction their bullets would do. They took their aim for granted, which dealt judgement on the living. I felt sick watching the slaughter. To come in such close proximity of death helps to reinforce the feeling of mortality. To see blood running like a river and settling like a great red sea made my stomach turn and my throat constrict. What evil we performed! What destruction we reaped! I couldn’t help but vomit when a comrade of ours was shot in the head. He collapsed in an instant with blood, brains and skull spewing out onto my clothes and face. I saw another poor fellow walking around aimlessly, looking for his rifle, with his arm hanging off at the elbow.

To think, Legosia and Armintia, the hub of civilisation. And this is what happens. We are no better than savages or the barbarians of Ilkta.

Was such a bitter waste necessary? What were we fighting for? Freedom? Imperial ambition? Security? We would not have needed to fight at all if the empire had been free of corruption and had broken from the emperor’s policy of isolation sooner. A war is usually the result of bad diplomacy. But Armintia forfeited the right to freedom when they chose an emperor above a senate. That is why war broke. Bad politics and bad blood. On both sides of the pond.

In the late afternoon we reached a safe haven to rest, pushing the Legosians further back out of the town. It was a welcome rest, though a short one. Parched throats were cleansed free with water. Wounds were cleaned and bound. Weapons were checked and more ammunition received.

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It was evident, even to a simpleton, that we had made progress through our indecorous approach to warfare. There is a certain etiquette, even in war. A polite understanding that was so blatantly ignored in the frenzy and fury of that day. Men went berserk, mad on the drug of invincibility. The tide of war drowning them into a false yearning for justification. But Jacob’s act of cruelty that day made all other atrocities seem inconsequential.

It happened that afternoon.

We had just cleared a street of Legosian troopers when we saw half a dozen solders file out from a building. They were unarmed and knelt on the road, begging for a different breed of freedom; the freedom to live. I was the first to see them, leading the vanguard out ahead.

They had surrendered humbly and so I gave my word that they would come to no harm. But when Jacob came moments later, covered in blood, he aimed his rifle and shot them. Four were killed in an instant, leaving two to turn and flee. My protests were louder than the battle itself, but it made no difference that black afternoon, for the final pair were shot down mercilessly and without remorse; spines shattered by the betrayal of trust. ‘No room for prisoners,’ he said simply, earning a nod and a look of disapproval from Lyle. I shook my head incredulously. ‘There is no rationalisation for murder. I had accepted their parole, and now they are dead and with it my honour.’

‘There is no room for honour in war,’ Jacob grunted, rounding the corner that came out onto a square. The buildings, made of Palinor stone, towered over us, once shops, banks and theatres. A stone fountain stood adjacent to us, but the water had stopped running. In the pool men washed faces and hands as others secured the crossroads. I had looked to Morcam for support, but he was too busy tending to the walking wounded who clung to our platoon.

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It was as I turned that I saw it. A grenade thrown from the same building that had harboured the six dead soldiers. It flew bravely into the square and I just had time to sound a warning when it exploded, killing a man instantaneously and leaving three others dazed and hurt. One was Jacob, who clung to his blooded face. Bullets then rained down on us, taking another through the soldier and felling him as the bullet then hit his heart. The rest of us scattered for cover and returned fire. Before fleeing to safety I noticed four massacred digits floating in the pool of the fountain, no doubt slowly sinking to the depths.

Another grenade was thrown but by then Lyle and five others had reached the building and within minutes the shooting stopped. Lyle appeared from the window on the second floor. ‘Building clear,’ he shouted with irony, his eyes resting on me. It was a subtle rebuke for I knew that the building should have been searched by me first. I was not placed back on the vanguard after that.

Instead I was sent back to the main square, which had been fashioned into a working hospital. Morcam and five men, including Jacob, returned with us. His face was covered in blood, hiding what would likely be an ugly scar. And four of his fingers were missing from his crimson hand. I should have pitied him, but I could not look a murderer in the eye, even if what we did to Lok was in itself unforgivable.

The hospital was littered with the wounded and dying. Perhaps two hundred in all, and most without the dignity of a blanket let alone a bed. One of the buildings close by was now being used as the morgue, and Morcam told me nearly a hundred more were lying dead inside; outlaws and soldiers alike. Such distinctions mattered little in battle, even if law ordained that

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an outlaw should be burned, not buried. There was not a building large enough to fit all the dying in. And not enough surgeons and attendants to tend to those crying out for help.

‘We’ll see if we can’t stitch you up,’ Morcam said talking to Jacob. ‘You’ll have to suffer the indignity of ugliness now though. Not that you were handsome before mind,’ Morcam added with a grin. I kept away from the discussion and simply stared at the men lying on the baked ground with all hope lost. I saw wounds unattended, flies festering and a dozen attendants walking around with flasks of water. I shook my head. ‘They’ll bake in the sun before dying of their wounds,’ I said to myself, looking across the square to see the figure of Roark beckoning me. His grim expression spoke of the agony he felt. I had often surmised that his expression was one of a man who hated killing, but was bound by it through skill and circumstance.

Like the entire town, he was stained in blood and looked like a man ready for the grave.

‘Talkville stop hiding with the sick and do something useful,’ Roark grunted, walking from the square, thus bidding me to do the same. ‘We’re going to strike the Legosian command. Eli and my men are already there and Elijah shall look after the diversion. Where’s Lyle?’

‘At Fountain Square,’ I replied hesitantly. Roark nodded. ‘We’ll need him. Tell him to find me near the Tally, and be quick. This has to be sudden or all momentum will be lost.’

Forgetting about everything else, I ran back down the street I had limped up only moments earlier. My ears were ringing, and my head was pounding with the fear of staying alive. Mercifully it did not take me long to find Lyle and tell him of Roark’s plans. Plans that would hopefully put an end to this awful massacre. Lyle asked few questions and in time led his men to the assigned assembly point. He knew I was no soldier and so turned to those he

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could trust indefinitely. No doubt he would have wished for Rufus to be at his side. A soldier he had served with and a man he could rely on implicitly. I knew I could not offer such security, but in my small way I was resolved to help.

Returning through the hospital once again, I remember seeing a man lying dead with contents of his stomach hanging loose next to him, his face almost unrecognisable. Was he one of ours, or a soldier in the Fiojn Regiment? I felt bile rising in my throat and turned away to hide my embarrassment. Despite my discretion Lyle, ever watchful, noticed. ‘You should stay out of this one Talkville. Help the good doctor.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m coming with you.’

The reply I received was a disinterested shrug of the shoulders. His attitude, cold and uncaring, sparked a flame inside me. It was an anger I had not felt before, but it gave me enough courage to continue and fight. Halting briefly to wipe my bitter mouth, I caught up with Lyle and his men down a guarded side street, the endless cacophony of battle still echoing through the town. As we neared the open square I saw a soldier gargle his own blood, clutching his pierced throat. More bullets were exchanged but providence saw me prevail unhurt. Indeed, we managed to push on apace without any further casualties. I was relieved as the next man to see the swinging sign of the Tally, but knew that the real slaughter had yet to begin.

Eli saw us first as we joined with Roark at the Grey Tally Inn, now a broken old building suffering from the terrors of light shelling. The battle was still fierce, though we had restricted the Legosians to the eastern and southern suburbs only. If yesterday had been a defeat then today was a victory. And we were greedy for more.

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I turned my back and saw outlaws and soldiers together, eager to return to their families as heroes. I had no family but I knew what must be done. I heard Roark talking. ‘We have two light mortars. When I give the signal they shall fire into that building there. Elijah will start his attack from the east and we from the town. I want to squeeze the bastards out.’ I did not know when or what the signal was, just that it would be soon.

On waiting for another slaughter to begin I realised that this was my first actual battle.

And I prayed it would be my last. There was nothing that could describe my terror. The nightmares, the lives that were taken. The lives that I took. Their faces. I shivered at the thought of my condemned soul.

The signal was apparently given without my knowing and with a sudden jolt we were up and moving. I heard mortar fire and realised a consistent shelling had been progressing for the entire time we had been stationary. I watched and saw as a shell exploded on the building we were running towards. The velocity of rifle’s discharging was colossal. A man could have been deafened by the rate of fire. I was aware of men stumbling, taken by a bullet, but the innate desire to live meant I carried on running, following Roark and Lyle into the gateways of hell.

We had caught the enemy on the hop. It was a daring and outrageous plan. And only sheer determination got us to the building. The shelling stopped as we did, but we could still hear the intensity of battle. Elijah was given the Legosians a licking, and taking a terrible risk because of it.

It came as an awful surprise to be shoulder to shoulder with a captain as I reached the fatal building and thus found cover. I looked back and saw at least five dozen men who never

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made the three hundred yards toward Legosian territory. ‘Captain L’breé,’ a serjeant chirped, saluting despite the threat of gunfire, ‘building is secure and we have prisoners.’

L’breé looked at his drawn sword, un-blooded. ‘Keep the officers, kill the rest.’

‘But they surrendered!’ I argued causing the man to look at me for the first time. He spat and then swore. ‘Bloody outlaws.’

It had all happened so fast. If only I had kept up with the two brothers, I could have been there when victory was won. However, I shall try and relate to you how the Legosian command post was taken, for it has since become a famous story to tell.

Roark and Lyle were quick, and aided by superb marksmanship and a resolute focus, they overwhelmed the Legosian command centre. Eli was in a building with the best sharpshooters, picking off those that had raced out of the building when the shells had hit. Elijah’s attack meant the majority of Legosian soldiers were preoccupied and with their backs turned. The beauty and simplicity of such an action meant there were few to guard the road we took to the building. Running, we made up the ground in an instant, though our butcher’s list numbered sixty or more. A small price to pay if it meant the battle could be won. And it was. For later that night the Legosians retreated, leaving over a thousand of their men either dead or wounded. Armintian cavalry took another two hundred prisoner the following day, likely those that could not keep up with the pace of retreat.

Roark was the first to reach the command post, and with Lyle, burst into a room full of officers and aides. A few shots were fired but the Legosians soon surrendered after realising their plight. Such a victory can never be overstated for that evening we took one brigadier, three colonels, five majors and ten captains in a matter of minutes.

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And of course it was a real bonus that one of their number was none other than General Henri de Goúth, Chief of Staff to the Legosian Expeditionary Force.

The outcome was total, for it soon ended the battle and Legosian resistance. Which meant equilibrium would be restored and our usual roles resumed.

We would be outlaws once again.

*

*

*

Richard’s Letter...

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ I said, my head throbbing and my fingers stinging, despite the clean bandage. Amelia looked at me and cleaned the mud from my blooded face. Oh how I shivered at her touch. She did not seem repulsed by the stitches or the gape in my lip. In fact she smiled at me with a genuine affection. ‘If I cannot fight then I can at least tend to those who have risked all for my father’s lands. So stay still and be quiet.’

I could not help but echo a laugh and watched as Annie was tending to a wounded soldier, grinning widely at the sudden change in his fortunes. We were the lucky ones. There were those who had died in the baking sun, and others that would soon follow. Mothers that would not see their sons. Wives their husbands. I was the fortunate one. I had a face like cracked stone but I would live, and I would sleep in a soft bed because Amelia, the daughter of a Count, would have it no other way. ‘I heard you were very brave today,’ she said after satisfying herself that my face was clean.

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‘Stupid more like,’ I replied, letting her take my malformed hand. ‘I let emotions ruin my judgement.’

‘You had Lyle with you though,’ she said expectantly. That was true. And without him I am sure that more than one bullet would have found a way into my heart. ‘He is a good man.

And a brave soldier.’ She continued to wash my frail palm, the new bandages now clean of blood. ‘A hot iron rod soon stopped the bleeding. It hurt,’ I added rather pathetically.

‘And now?’ she asked, rubbing them gently. For a second I sat transfixed, knowing that what I felt was an untouchable and destructive emotion. A simple touch sparked up a lustful desire that I was barely able to control. I was conscious of staring at her, breathing heavily and then huffing disapprovingly when she mentioned the name of Lyle once again. In an instant I took my hand from her grasp, the moment lost forever. ‘He will be fine I am sure,’ I replied in answer to her rather searching question. I then decided to risk what I already knew. ‘Do you like him?’

She looked at me for a brief moment, mortified. But then her expression changed from that of shock to relief. ‘I do not know, perhaps.’

‘Well you have acted like a lady should, never has there been cause for scandal.’

‘Then perhaps those that know me best have realised what I tried to reject.’ I looked confused and she smiled. ‘Annie confronted me this morning. And with it I realised the truth.’

‘So there are feelings on your part?’ I asked, my heart crumbling, my world spinning.

‘I know I shouldn’t, and I know he killed poor Henry, but I cannot stop thinking about him and worry when it is not my place to do so. I cannot help it Jacob. I am sorry,’ she added, taking my hand again. I half choked and knew there were tears welling in my eyes. Mercifully

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she chose not to notice, or she simply did not discern the pain I now felt. Even though I knew it, the words that confirmed my anguish struck me dumb. I shook my head and closed my eyes in an effort to hide my torment. It felt as if a mighty squall had hit me, a frightening tempest that would likely see me drown. ‘I am happy for you,’ I said, standing to take my leave.

What a mercy it was that Annie then took my arm, with an excuse that the doctor wished to see me. ‘There is no doctor is there?’ I said once we had stepped from Amelia’s presence. Annie shook her head. ‘Try not to grieve Jacob, your heart will heal.’

‘Has yours?’

With a look of mock horror she hit me in light appraisal. ‘That is different and you know it Jacob Hilmai. But if it is of any comfort, you would have made the better match.’

‘I fear that neither of us will make her happy,’ I then replied gloomily, looking up to see Alexander Morcam walk with determination toward us. He looked at me from head to toe. ‘An improvement in my eyes Jacob. You already have the ladies clinging to you,’ he added with a smile at Annie. Annie laughed and I gave a light shake of the head. ‘Don’t go spreading false rumours Morcam,’ I replied jovially. ‘How goes the operation?’ I then asked after a hesitant pause, for it was impossible not to ignore the increased intensity of rifle fire and shelling this early evening. More men were dead and the injured were still flocking to the hospitalised square. Morcam scratched his head and removed his glasses. ‘A success I believe. Lyle has asked for you. If you would follow me? I’m afraid you will have to leave the lady here though,’ he added, glancing at Annie and bowing, before walking down a street largely untouched by the Legosian mortar.

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I followed, examining the town in the outer streets. It would seem one in three houses had been affected somehow, though most residents had chosen to flee further north. It wouldn’t be long before looters began to roam the empty streets.

In no more than a few minutes I found myself on the street of the battle that had taken place earlier. The road was stained red, and the buildings were disfigured and deformed with scratched stonework and disjointed masonry. And yet it seemed the corpses and wounded had been removed with efficient practice.

The focal point of the street now occupied a bunch of dreary prisoners, who were under guard, seemingly reconciled to their fate. All of them were officers; their pride shot and their will broken. They would likely hang, for there was no quarter given to a Legosian, especially a general. And that would be a mercy, for they would be tortured first.

I saw father immediately and tried to hide the emotion I felt. He was badly wounded for it seemed a bullet had been embedded in his ribs. It would be sheer torture just to breathe.

‘They ask for clemency,’ Lyle said quietly, now at my side. ‘And I would give it but L’breé says they will hang like any other.’

‘Whatever happened to ransom?’

‘It perished when blind hate defeated reason,’ Lyle answered. ‘I thought you would like to see them, before the stallion dies.’

I smiled, and looked toward father who stared at me with a recognition, despite my disfigured look. ‘He is no stallion, and I am no fowl. But you already know this.’ I stared at the old man just a little longer. ‘What is your association?’

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‘There is none, not on my part at any least,’ Lyle answered, carefully choosing his words.

I took him for a liar but kept my mouth shut. This was not the place for a confrontation. Nor did I feel like having one. He was father’s agent, and I his son. Together we were both deceivers and charlatans. ‘How bad were the –’ ‘I am sorry!’ a voice suddenly croaked from the prisoners, interrupting our flow and alerting every man and detainee within the vicinity.

It is a damned life indeed when a son can no longer look his father in the eye. I froze at the shrill terror enunciated by father, staring at me with his red reptilian eyes. In that moment I could barely breathe, such was the tortuous despair masqueraded upon his face. It was a call of mercy as well as a call of paternal anxiety. The words were that of an acquiescent man who knew that yielding meant torture and then execution.

With a weeping finality the old general repeated his lament, only louder, trying to stand.

His efforts reminded me of a fowl trying to take its first steps, just moments after being born. It took every power of self-control to ignore the man, sister. He was our father, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing to save his agony.

I looked to Lyle expectantly only for him to shake his head in resignation. He understood well my predicament, but there was nothing he could do or say that could repair the situation.

Nor could he ignore the prattling and gibbering of a man made mad because of war. Father’s face was white and sweat mixed with blood and dirt, ran from his face. His hands were gloved red with blood, and his clothes soiled by the muck of war. So far the guards were more interested in placating the prisoner, rather than listening to the mad man’s rants. I did not

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prevaricate with any sense of relish or duty. I was simply scared. Indeed, I would have denied his existence to the end, only his third cry of anguish chilled my very bones.

‘Richard I am sorry!’ father shouted again, with an urgency and sorrow only a parent could know. At the mention of my own name I could do nothing but look at him. He was pleading with me and I felt such a desire to help him. And I may well have done sister, if it was not for an officer, a captain I recognised, who successfully baited the man I knew as father.

Lyle took my arm, sensing my resolve had been broken.

But only my heart shattered that day.

His sense of delirium worried me, for father had always been a strong man with a determined agenda. And here he was, like a child, shown to his seat. His feverish state, coupled with the fact he knew death was inevitable, broke him. It turned a general of armies into nothing more than a troubled little boy. He did not speak again, though I doubt he had the energy to do so. Instead he resigned himself to a constant shiver, rubbing his hands and staring at the inevitability of death.

And it was in that instant when he died. When it happened. When father’s life ended.

Ended by the cut of a blade. Snuffed out at the whim of a soldier.

Nor did I see it coming sister, or I would have tried to prevent it. The executioner was quick but not invisible. In quite deliberate fashion a knife was put to father’s throat and sliced expertly to the bone. His face was not covered and nor did he try to run from his murder once the deed was done. He simply stood amid shouts of protests from prisoners and guards alike.

The street ran amok with shock, fuelled by an innate rage that threatened more lives. The man in question was quickly restrained by a serjeant, who received a welcoming butt to the head in

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recompense. Two other soldiers were soon deposited to the floor before any semblance of order could be rectified. The prisoners shouted ‘murder’ but were soon whipped quiet. I thought the murderer would run given the chance, but instead he remained standing, looking over his conquered foe. The serjeant had given up in his attempt to restrain him and none other had dared try.

I myself stood shocked, for how could a man be so evil? Lyle later told me it was a mercy, but I cannot release from my mind the picture of father lying in a pool of his own blood. The helpless child struck down by a violent and gratuitous wolf. Glancing at Lyle, I knew then that General de Goúth’s imprisonment was always destined for a premature end.

It did not take long for the vulture L’breé to swarm onto the scene. His face a tangled bucket full of animosity. ‘Explain yourself?’ he asked, insipid and to the point, looking up at the accused. The murderer shrugged. ‘He was trying to escape.’

‘And yet his throat has been cut! Did he try and escape straight into your knife?’

‘I killed a Legosian general,’ the man grunted in defence, ‘I do not need to give you an explanation.’

L’breé laughed. ‘You will when this battle is over,’ he replied with meaning. ‘For I shall make sure every outlaw hangs!’ he added, turning on his heels.

It was then that the man who had taken father’s life looked at me, before staring knowingly at Lyle. He looked peaceful. At ease.

‘I am free,’ were his only words before he walked away.

And that my dear sister was how our father died and how the battle ended.

And how the chains of Legosia had been cut by a man who felt nothing but shame.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Amelia’s Diary...

The palpable cruelty of war has turned Onis into a quagmire of death. I can see the flies and smell the stench in the air. The effervescent cosmos above must look down on Onis and weep.

It is dark now and I am assured the Legosians have retreated, for there has been no sound of battle for two hours or more. What’s more, we hear that the vanguard of a relief force is mere miles away. The fact that the battle is over may ease my soul but the blood I saw today has done nothing to unburden my conscience. In fact, I am resolved to do more in the future for those who have been struck down by the phallic and demonic institution that is war. I am certain that it was designed by men, for it is played out by men, and finished by men.

Orchestrated by desire and greed, so that generals may satisfy kings and emperors. Oh to see the day when a queen might have her say!

To see Jacob lose his fingers and his looks has chastised me to the point where I realise sacrifice is something I have never experienced. The rebuke is out beyond this house, on the streets where souls have been given so that Onis might live. So that my father’s lands do not fall. The thought makes me shudder. Because I know that the person to whom I marry will receive all this, and with it a duty to keep it safe. I do not think I can bequeath such a responsibility.

It is a shame that the news of more soldiers marching forth hasn’t instilled excitement throughout the household, but Jacob has done nothing but sleep and Annie has kept clear of a tetchy Lord Rheese, who has been at odds with that horrible little man, Eamor Hunt.

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It makes my blood curdle to think he has done nothing and shown no inkling of thankfulness throughout the last few days. He is a man utterly devoted to his role of High Justice, and is quite insensitive to any semblance of humanity. It is rumoured Lord Rheese has asked for full pensions to be given to the invalided, but Eamor has quite rejected the proposal.

Such a proclamation should not be uttered with shock though, for never has there been a more detestable creature... ‌Another day has passed by. And I have some terrible news. News that I can hardly bear to write. The restless energy is coursing through me like a virus. The protestation of my pen is my only release. I would but reflect on the sacrifice and weep once more. Such death.

But there are events that must be recorded and in their proper order. I endeavour to keep emotion from staining this diary, but even now I dry my tears and cry out for the hope of a saviour. The garment of my mind is undressed through this ink that recreates what must be remembered. But even this diary does not know all. There are some secrets that even I could not write down.

Or that is what I thought, but I will not be able to hide the life inside me forever.

Yes it is true.

I am happy that the relief force has brought a stability to my father’s lands. Even now that hateful man Eamor assures me his killer will be brought to justice. But for that to happen we must know his identity and be sure of his crimes. I am not a vengeful spirit. Indeed a part of me, a blasphemous part, believes father got what he deserved, though not in such a cruel or barbarous way. I wonder if Eamor suspects anybody. I wonder if he suspects me. I am guilty of not loving him after all.

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It is evident I am putting off this evening’s events. Through my written expression I hope to make sense of it, even if I still grieve. Even if I still cry. And it seems I have done more than a life’s worth of that since Jacob rode into my life. Since Lyle so rudely introduced himself and took what I thought I could not give.

See how I still procrastinate? The great philosopher and theologian Remius of Tarsian once proclaimed that procrastination relieves the mind of sorrow, for it escapes into a world that has not lived. A world where there is no wrong. Oh how I yearn for such a paradise! But in reality I delay because I am scared. The feelings are still strong, my resolve unsure.

Perhaps then it would be wise to start with Annie coming to me after we had taken our evening tea. The mood of the town is good. Morale is still high, despite so many succumbing to the cruelty of wounds beset after battle. All victory comes at a price.

Annie was upset because she heard her stepson Campbell had been wounded fighting in an engagement south of Onis, at what people are calling Bloodgate Ridge. A battle so terrible that the Legosian general took his life after failing to break through, such was the slaughter of his men. I hear our casualties were high too, and now the rains have come at last. And have come to stay. Soon the roads will be flooded and Onis will truly be safe.

I do pray that he will live. Lord Rheese has not taken the news well. Indeed he retired to his study and has not been seen since, refusing to take dinner with the rest of us. Jacob did a fine job of being master of ceremonies, and the venison was a sweet and rich delight in such fearful times.

As I have recited before, the decision was made some days ago to not return to father’s castle, for it is too exposed they say. Especially now the rains have come. And I am glad of a

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little company. Jacob tells me things are progressing well and when I asked after Lyle he shook his head and would not say. I have not seen him for a day and more and I wondered then if other information had reached him. Whether Amos had survived and returned with perilous news. Whether Elijah sought a permanent alliance now events had changed. I did not think Eamor would agree at the time. And today’s news has confirmed my deepest fears.

But none if this was part of my conversation with Annie. We talked of Campbell and then of Lord Rheese. ‘He has taken to the drink I am afraid, and will no longer oblige in conversation,’ Annie was saying, quite ill with worry. I smiled and patted her hand. ‘He will come around. You must remember he is a busy man with responsibilities. To hear of a son maimed in such times would send lesser men insane.’

‘What if he has gone mad then?’ Annie interjected, shaking her tired head. ‘For it is not like him to fret, nor keep his thoughts so secret. The bottle will be the death of him.’

I glanced at Annie and wondered if that would be a preferable course given her hopeless imprisonment, married to a man whom etiquette requires her to love. And yet her heart forbids it. I do hope Seamus is well. Jacob assured me he was. But just to think of his terrible woe makes one detest all war and every man who caused it. ‘You cannot do anything else but support him,’ I advised, taking some cake and a little more tea. ‘After all a wife may be commanded to be obedient but the husband is commanded to love. You have done your lot.

Let him recover so he can continue to keep his side of the bargain.’

‘You make marriage sound like a quack Amelia, such cynicism will only make you age quicker.’

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‘Good, then nobody will seek to own me,’ I replied with a grin that achieved the smile from a friend who so desperately needed to find joy. Annie then leaned in and her voice took a conspicuous air. ‘But what of you?’

‘What of me?’ I said, feigning ignorance.

‘Don’t try and ignore what you told me the other morn. You are with child. And you are yet to tell me the father.’

‘That is because the father is of no consequence. And do not judge me, for I know of the scandal I will cause,’ I said, looking at Annie and seeing my words take hold.

‘I am not one to judge and nor would I since I was not a virgin when I married, yet since I have joined in matrimony I have lived like one.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘He still does not lie with you?’

‘Oh he does his duty, but I cannot but think he retreats out of a feeling for his former love. At any rate we have not coupled this year. I…’ She stopped and I wondered whether she was reliving that dreadful night when her world saw nothing but darkness. Instead she shook her head. ‘I wish I could see Seamus.’

‘When this war is over you will,’ I added, turning to hear a knock at the door. It was Jacob who entered, with a face so pale I feared he would faint. Without thought I stood and took his hand, helping him to my chair. I offered a glass of water but he refused and shook his head. He was breathing heavily and gulped for breath as he spoke. ‘I apologise for my interruption, but it is necessary. I am afraid we have been deceived. All of us. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted the man! And I was warned to boot!’

‘What is wrong?’

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Jacob opened his mouth but turned to see Lord Rheese standing on the threshold, eyes as dark as night. Though when he spoke he was clear, so much so that it sent a sparkling chill down my very spine. ‘They have taken them,’ he said, ‘Eamor has locked them up.’

‘Locked who up?’ Annie asked.

I felt my heart stop.

Jacob coughed before continuing, glancing nervously at Rheese. ‘Some escaped, but a precious few. Eamor has them.’

‘Has who?’ I now demanded, my impatience masking my fright. Lord Rheese took a step into the room and closed the door, then looked straight at me. ‘Lyle has been arrested for High Treason,’ he said simply. ‘And he will hang.’

*

*

*

Jack’s Memoirs...

It is of my opinion, since I witnessed the events, that no historian of any merit has done justice to that night. They say someone was paid to trick us. But we knew of no traitor. Roark had seen to that. So it is with a willingness to set out the facts that I write this; not in anyway to vindicate myself, for I do not wish redemption. But in doing so I hope to impress on you the truth, that Lyle had gone too far. He no longer served his men. He was a monster. They both were. Lyle and Jacob. Both traitors. Both condemned as such. Even their treatment of the Legosian lieutenant, known as Asdur, broke the rules of every law war can know. Their

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execution of that man was so barbaric that I will not even mar these pages with such atrocities.

Let us just say that when they had finished Asdur was no longer human…

Extracts from Turncoat…

‘Don’t be such a damned fool Jack!’ Morcam sang quite vociferously, in keeping with his nature. The man wasn’t drunk. He hadn’t taken a bottle since the battle. But he was enraged.

‘We may be criminals but Lyle and Roark wouldn’t submit to common murder! Such theories betray your inadequate learning man,’ he added quite deliberately. I could not be sure if he was genuine or whether this was for show. The men around him certainly gave no notice and preferred to hunch around a table, fire lit, in a house that had been billeted as our own since the battle had ended.

I had argued that we should leave, yet it seemed the two brothers were of another persuasion altogether. This sparked several rumours amongst the men; the most common was that we were negotiating an alliance. All pardoned and let free! Lyle was dreaming. Such delusions were not helpful. Nevertheless, it is my opinion that Roark, the great man he was, had only one thought. That of Rufus. I am sure we would have been gone, if the poet had been freed. But such negotiations were impossible. Eamor made sure of that.

Alas, on that fateful evening Elijah walked in with Lyle at his side. That was how it started. They looked worried and were anxious to find a fire. It did not take long for them to separate from the main throng and were soon joined by Roark, who had declined from stepping out into the cold streets for fear of arrest.

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The conversation was muted but not dull. What tidings Elijah had brought seemed ill indeed, for Roark repeatedly shook his head in frustration and repressed fury. Lyle placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, brushing away what must have only been a tear. ‘I told you we should have done what Elijah and his bloody men did, and left when we had the chance,’ Eli grunted, eyeing the triumvirate meeting with the fear of one who knew when trouble was afoot. Morcam stroked his chin, troubled like the rest of us; forty and more, and all taking a keen interest in the provocations of the increasingly restive conference. Whatever was said, there was disagreement.

In the end the doctor’s patience had seen enough. ‘Ahoy there gentleman!’ he barked, waiting for the three men to stop and recognise his right of say. ‘You three are making us all rather nervous, and as physician to this horrible lot I believe it my duty to ask, what in the devil’s name are you talking about? Eli is getting tetchy.’

‘I am no-’ But Eli was not able to finish for Roark then spoke. ‘I am afraid Elijah has brought some bad news.’

‘What the emperor has died has he?’ the doctor asked mischievously. I couldn’t help but stifle a grin. Not that I wouldn’t have welcomed such news.

Lyle stood up with his back to the flickering fire. His voice cut through the general murmurings of the multitude. ‘We are surrounded by Imperial Troops and will be forced to surrender within the hour,’ he announced simply.

‘But they said –’ Eli began to protest.

‘Eamor fed us lies. And although we should not have believed him, the battle gave us hope. After all, we helped save the town. And Eamor knows that,’ Roark grunted.

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‘But he took our weapons!’ another protested, his fear evident, betraying the majority mood. Lyle eyed the man hard. ‘No, he thought he took our weapons. We have twenty rifles stored in the rafters.’

‘But there are forty of us!’ a man named Alexander cried. I nodded, for even the slowest of us were able to do the arithmetic. For a moment there was a terrifying pause, and all one could hear was the crackle of the fire and the constant drum of rain outside. Lyle nodded.

‘That is why I will not ask all of you to fight. But those who wish to, we will draw lots.’

‘Damn it! We’ll all fight. I’ll use my hands if it comes down to it!’ Eli shouted, arousing sedated cries of acclamation in support. Lyle smiled. ‘Even so. We must draw lots. Elijah you have the straws?’ he asked, turning to the shepherd. Revealing ten sticks, all of seemingly equal length, Elijah stepped forth. ‘Five are short, five are long. Those who pick short go without arms.’

‘Those with the best shot should be given a rifle!’ one man argued, eyeing the straws with clear nervousness. Lyle shook his head. ‘I want to give everyone a fair chance. And that being so I shall go first,’ he said, walking to Elijah and picking the end straw; it was long. He looked to Eli and Morcam. ‘Help me bring down the guns.’ We all stood hopeless and scared as the three left the room, each eyeing Elijah uneasily. ‘Talkville you go next,’ the man said, staring at me with an iron-like glare. I did and to my glee pulled long.

It was then that a general line was assembled and the men began to pick with nervous expectations. When ten were drawn the straws were handed back, and Elijah’s slight of hand began the next round. By this time Lyle, Eli and Morcam had returned with the guns, and those fortunate enough to draw right, received the chance of their salvation.

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And so it was, faces filled with dread, others with hope, friends crying in despair as their comrades were left empty. ‘Those without the means of protection stick close to a rifleman.

You will be holding their ammunition and your ticket to freedom,’ Lyle added when all but three straws were left ready to draw. That left Roark, Morcam and Eli, and in my excitement I had neglected to count the score. Morcam stepped forward first and without hesitation pulled long, and muttered something along the lines of ‘damn,’ much to the paradox of the general crowd. He did not look pleased.

By then positions had been taken so that only a few stood waiting to see the outcome of the final two. Morcam was handed his rifle with the look of one who did not know the stock from the barrel. Eli stepped forward, shaking his head. I wondered whether he had been counting and knew the outcome. In any event he picked short. There was nothing but resignation on his face.

Which left Roark. Our champion had left himself to the very end, knowing by then that his future might have already been decided. He sniffed and held out his hand, looking at Elijah with a fierce look of determination. ‘Give me the damned straw Elijah. It matters little to me that it is short.’ I looked aghast as the shepherd acquiesced, handing the straw over and in doing so betraying its type to the horror of the general crowd; it was short! All plain to see on Roark’s outstretched palm. ‘No!’ I cried, unable to hide my disbelief. Roark looked at me and simply grinned. He sat on a chair and on feeling his boot, produced a knife the size of a cleaver. ‘Good,’ he said simply. A look of raw terror infected Roark’s face. But this was not fright, just an uncontrolled rage. I am convinced the man cared little for what type of weapon

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he clutched. Only that he had one. It was then that Morcam spoke. ‘This will not do,’ he said simply.

‘Fate is fate,’ Roark grunted. Morcam shrugged. ‘Even so I’m changing it, here have this,’ he added, shoving his rifle into the hands of Eli. ‘You are the better shot. I would be best served helping the wounded. Now clear that table and Eli stop gawping. The enemy is out there not in here,’ he said, pointing to the shutters of the window.

And at that the world exploded.

The first thing I could remember after the explosion and choking on the smoke was Eli’s chilling words. ‘The bastards have mortars!’

I looked at Morcam and shook my head. ‘But that’s against the rules,’ I protested as rifle fire rang overhead. Another whistle from that frightful weapon predetermined another shell.

‘They can’t bomb their own town!’

‘You forget my good friend,’ Morcam said with a grin, ‘that we are outlaws. There are no rules here!’ At that the first of the wounded were brought to his table and I heard Roark screaming at me to use my rifle and fire it at the enemy. I shot through a hastily constructed loophole and shook as a shell exploded, tearing three innocent souls.

‘We can’t stay here,’ I heard Lyle say to Roark, who was by my side. I had offered him the rifle, but he refused, and after I had shot my fill, he handed me my ammunition. I doubt my bullets even killed one. The rain was so strong all I saw was shadows. Roark shrugged.

‘Make a run for it then.’

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‘We’ll hang if we’re caught!’ Lyle shouted, for the shellfire and bullets were all consuming, all prevailing. I saw Elijah rush forward, blood on his face, with two guns in hand.

‘This is suicide,’ he said simply. ‘We must run or die here.’

‘We could use the sewers,’ Lyle suggested, eyeing the stairs to the basement. But even he knew that Eamor had taken to patrolling the underground. ‘Eamor guards the exits,’ Roark grunted. ‘We’ll be seen and slaughtered.’

‘Not if a few go,’ Elijah said, his mind already made up. Lyle nodded. ‘Go,’ he said, staring at his brother. ‘I shall hold them off for as long as I can.’

‘I am not leaving my men,’ Roark grunted.

‘Don’t be stubborn,’ I found myself saying. ‘Go now or die without hope.’

Roark spat, and with one look to his brother tapped Elijah’s shoulder and followed the shepherd down into the basement. I can remember a look of shear anguish etched upon the very canvas of his face.

Then as the two disappeared I found myself staring at Lyle who spat without thought or feeling. He then grinned, an unnerving expression given our circumstances and one that spoke of wickedness. ‘The buggers didn’t even ask for surrender,’ he simply stated.

It took only a second before I understood his meaning. ‘They don’t want to take us prisoner?’ I asked, for I had not even thought down such cruel paths. Lyle shrugged. ‘We’re dead either way. I am at any rate. You might be saved from the noose if you tell them what they want to know.’ The very thought stirred me with anger. ‘I would never betray you.’

‘Then die like the rest of us,’ Lyle grunted, and fired his rifle into the night.

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I could not help but think there was an escape somewhere. I had thought more than once about turning and charging down the sewers, but honour stopped me. A few did by the end but the rest stuck to it until the finish. I do not see Roark or Elijah as cowards for departing.

Indeed in my humble opinion they had both earned the right to flee from the clutches of death tenfold! The fear of being shot in the dark, with the body left to decay where no one could see perhaps persuaded the majority to stay. Loyalty supposed that if anyone could escape, then it would be Roark and Elijah. I was a little surprised Lyle did not flee either, but it seemed, at first glance, that he was willing to endure his fate.

The conclusion of that unequal battle really does not need to be explained. But perhaps the genesis of the conflict itself requires justification. The question I ask myself is this: why did we stay in Onis? Why did we believe the false gift of freedom? Mayhap we were only staying for Rufus’s sake, but did naivety deem us to wait in Onis itself? For those who are sceptical of such a stay, remember this. Never once did they stop watching us.

It was Lyle who inevitably surrendered when all hope was lost. A grinning, ugly looking captain named L’breé accepted our white flag. There was little choice, despite what the decision meant. From thereon in we were treated like outlaws. Beaten, starved, and prepared for our public execution.

Remembering the stink and dank of the fetid dungeons, it was a wonder they did not leave us to rot there. Though if the rumours are true, then they are a mercy compared to the dungeons at Fiojn Castle.

Regardless of such gloom I think we were all surprised to see the Lady Amelia come and visit. From the look on Lyle’s face, he was not. I did not catch the full thread of the

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conversation, but one only needs to imagine the discourse when one considers their eventual fate. ‘Ill-luck,’ is what Morcam said. In any event whatever was said certainly made Lyle confess his transgressions. I refuse to forgive him, even now, when I know it is true.

How could he betray his brother to such a fate?

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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Richard’s Letter...

Let me educate you sister on the sorrows of a heart that gives but does not receive. I am a dying man. I am a bitter man. I am a man who was deceived.

Love is a trap. My feelings were simply bait. And having once bitten love they will not let go. But I will no longer be trapped by its evil snare, nor induced by its scheming tricks. I shall remain imperious. Love shall not conquer this life. It will not eat my flesh. It will not taste my blood. It will not drink from the cup of my veins, nor dance to victory, or sing in glee. I shall resist it and fight. I will not let it tear me apart. I will not let it enflame me, nor drag me to the fires. Its enchanting tongue will whisper into my ear and I will be deaf to the witches call. I shall be blind to its siren’s tongue. Without it I am pure. With it I will slowly die. Die of the insanity, of the impossibility, of the lure and of the bitter taste it leaves upon my heart. I shall enter my grave, poisoned but sure in the knowledge that I am no longer possessed by the parasite eating away at my soul. Offering my heart what it cannot have. Taking what it cannot give. The curse will be lifted and I will be free. When I die.

I know that the sentence has been passed. It will be a lethal toxic. The drug will take my body and encase my heart. Every time I look at her I will choke. Every time she smiles at me I will die. Oh have mercy on me and take me now, so she will not win. It is a blessing that soon the execution, so long in the past, will finally take my life. It will let me find sweet death.

Sweet compassionate death.

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I tried taking my own life yester eve, but the priest stopped me. I wept into his hands. He says he understands, but who can? Only those who have given so much and received so little will know my feelings. Everyone else will look on me as a broken fool.

Seamus reads to me most nights. His wound has healed, though he shall remain on crutches for the rest of his life. Every morning he shall wake up to realise he has but one foot.

They offered him his parole, but he refused, and muttered something about looking after me. I told him, using my chalk board, that he should write to Annie. He assures me he will do, when the war has ended. When I am dead. Why he treats me thus when he knows the truth is a testament to a great man and my only true friend. Seek him out sister, if you are able. And tell him I am sorry.

I must pick up my confession again at a time when Amelia returned to the house, drenched with the weight of a thunderstorm. She looked so ill. I had to turn to hide the look of jealousy. For how could she feel such for another? A maid passed her a blanket and she walked into the sitting room with a fire raging, refusing to take a hot bath. She would not even change her clothes, clinging to her body in a way that revealed too much for the eyes of gentleman in decent society. Yet she persisted. Sweet and vulnerable. And so very pretty. So very sad.

I offered her some hot tea and then sat opposite, stoking the fire and waiting for her to speak. She looked at me then, and I could tell her eyes were assessing my deformity, a habit she would often unknowingly perform. She looked so very afraid. And I could not hold her stare for long; for I wished I could hide the face war had chosen for me. Without thought I

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then rubbed the stump of my fingers, still unable to acknowledge that such simple digits no longer existed.

‘You should not have visited him,’ I said simply, unwilling to endure the silence any longer. When she did not reply I decided to change tact. ‘Is he well?’

For a second her eyes, like fire, pierced me with an anger that quite humbled my heart.

‘He is not beaten yet, if that is your concern.’

‘Do not chide Amelia,’ I responded, ‘I only wish to see you safe. Eamor will know that you visited.’

She shrugged. ‘I still have influence as the Count’s daughter. But I learnt nothing anew from his lips.’

‘I only know what has been said amongst the soldiers,’ I replied, with the surety that she wished to understand the night in full. ‘Firstly, that there are thirty prisoners, over half of which suffer from some form of ailment. Ten are reported serious, so that even now the mercy of the Emperor sees them treated until well. There were six that died and perhaps the same number escaped. I do not know for sure. But Roark and Elijah have yet to be found. The search still continues. I tried to warn them Amelia, you have to believe me I did everything I could to stop this from happening.’

‘And yet it still did.’ She looked at me with eyes full of tears. ‘You don’t understand.’

I shook my head, suddenly filled with anger. ‘I surely do,’ I found myself saying in reply.

Her gaze was full of fear. ‘What do you see in the man?’ I then asked, unable to keep such feelings suppressed any longer. She shivered with a look that hung on the very flames of the fire. ‘Nothing that I do not see in you.’ My heart leapt, for she had given me cause to hope

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before. More so than a lady should give. ‘Only he makes me feel safe.’ The words almost broke me. I felt like telling her there and then what I knew about the true nature of Lyle Ramtk. But something stopped me. Whether it was conscience, fear, or hypocrisy I cannot say. For I am no better. In all likelihood I just did not wish to hurt her. Nothing in me could be so cruel. Such was my weakness.

My mind soon recovered when I realised she had continued. ‘I know it seems daft, considering who he is Jacob and what he has done. He killed a man very dear to me. And yet I find myself…loving him.’ Being resigned to such a thing, I thought I would feel pain. Instead I felt numb. I shivered, despite the welcome heat of the fire, and for a time I wished I was out in the rain, hiding my grief. Oh to feel happiness again.

I poured a glass of wine and swallowed slowly, my mouth as dry as the sun. Then, squeezing my hand in the hope it was not shaking, I looked at her. ‘I understand,’ were the only words I could fashion from my lips. She placed a compassionate hand on my knee but removed it after comprehending my festering stare. ‘I am sorry for…I need to…’ She stopped.

A conscious decision not to continue with such a hopeless apology. Then with a huff she stood and made to turn. ‘Oh I don’t know what I think anymore!’

I searched for words of comfort but found only a stubborn rejection of her sorrow. But knowing that such feelings were a terrible betrayal of my heart I nodded and then smiled in an effort to reaffirm friendship. ‘You have been through a traumatic few weeks Amelia. It is hard to adjust to change. Especially when one is scared by the path it chooses. I think Lyle is a good man at heart, and it pains me to see him in chains. But there is one thing you must know and with such comes a promise.’

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‘I don’t know if I can take anymore bad news this night,’ Amelia whispered painfully, taking her seat when she saw the look upon my face. I did not know how to tell her, but I knew that she had to know. ‘I’m afraid there is more that I have not told you and you will not like it.’

‘Tell me,’ she gulped, almost pleading for me to stop, scared to hear the truth. But for this I stared into her two green haunting eyes. ‘Lyle is to be hanged in the morning,’ I said, ‘there will be no trial and no delay,’ I added after watching the tears flow down her pale cheeks. I sniffed, before continuing. ‘But you have my promise that I shall do everything in my power to set him free.’

To my surprise she smiled, though it was a sad smile, cheerless and forlorn. ‘I don’t deserve to have you in my life,’ she said in a voice so soft the words were all but lost.

‘You deserve more than what I can give,’ I replied, speaking the words without really feeling such. She spoke poison and I drank it in, despite fighting to break free from the chains of bleak despair.

Without further delay or anguish I stood and walked from the room, fighting logic in favour of fantasy. But before I could do aught else, a tremendous rap was heard on the door. As a servant made to open it, he was pushed aside, leaving the door ajar. I trembled at the sight of the man who stood on the threshold. The unmistakable presence of Eamor Hunt made my heart drop. An attachment of half dozen guards confirmed my fear. I had wanted to flee. My first instinct was to run. But instead that evil man called my name. ‘Richard!’ I paused and half turned before shaking my head, feigning ignorance. ‘What is it that you want?’ I asked sharply.

He smiled. ‘Only to witness the final part of my victory. Guards seize him!’

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My immediate reaction was to stand and fight but then I saw Amelia, hovering at the doorway of the sitting room, invisible to the guards who grabbed and shackled me. ‘Jacob Hilmai you are under arrest for treason and for espionage!’ Eamor roared with evident delight.

‘As such all rights are forfeited in accordance to the rules of war!’ The man smiled, and glanced to see Amelia, her shock quite evident, her fear blatant. Taking a step closer he bowed to her.

‘I do apologise my lady but Emperor’s business cannot be delayed. The empire does not tolerate spies!’ He then gazed at me with the look of victory. ‘You see how busy I have been Richard? Thinking you could fool us. But you will see I am quite resourceful. And I’m sure you will agree after we have had a little chat.’ He nodded to Amelia and rubbed his hands with glee. ‘Everything is fitting into place quite nicely,’ he sang, walking out into the storm and the night.

I do not need to tell you sister, that his very words made me shiver with fear.

*

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Amelia’s Diary...

I return to this diary after a month of neglect and on reading my last entry I am decided that certain details must be put in their right place. Hiding is not a trait natural for a lady, especially one in my condition, but we must persevere…

Of course I was left stunned that night. It was quite impossible after all! That was what I thought. Quite impossible! How could it even be? I write this now, with very little time to even think. But I am safe enough to tell you this. When I saw Jacob taken away I wanted to

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scream. And I perhaps would have done if it was not for an unlikely hand grabbing my elbow.

I turned to see Lord Rheese staring at me with a look of total understanding. ‘You are not well,’ he said feeling my cold hands.

‘What has happened?’ I asked, hoping someone, somewhere would provide answers. Lord Rheese smiled. ‘My manservant has run a bath. Restore yourself and then await me in my study.’

‘Where is Annie?’

‘I have sent her and her maid away. She should have no part in this. Now go and bathe, and find new clothes.’

‘I am quite well,’ I complained, with an impatience that made Rheese laugh. The man pointed to the stairs. ‘No, you are as cold as ice. Now go and warm yourself and then I shall answer your questions.’

I had little choice but to obey and so I retired to my room, where a hot steaming bath awaited me. I have never rushed such a luxury in my life, but that night I was out before the water even cooled, such was my desire to hear all that Rheese had to tell. The mystery of the man was second to what he had to say. But his words were repeated in my head over and over again as I changed into my riding clothes. And what of Jacob? What were these lies that Eamor told? At the time I could not understand, and nor did I believe. The truth quite shocked me, but from what Lyle says, he did little harm in the greater scheme of things. I think in the end Jacob was more loyal to my father than most Armintians!

I made my way down the wooden steps apprehensive, but with a determination to know the truth. Lord Rheese was waiting in his study, with the door open, inviting me in. He was

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writing something on a piece of paper and only looked up when he had finished sealing the letter. ‘Close the door Amelia and sit down. Would you like some wine?’ he asked, pouring himself a glass. I declined politely and sat down. ‘I expect you would like some answers?’

I nodded, wishing I had accepted the wine to clear my throat. ‘What did you mean by saying Annie should not be a part of this?’ I asked after a pause. Rheese smiled. I realised it was a smile I had not seen before; it was if it belonged to a different man. ‘I thought you might ask that rather difficult question first. But let me answer by asking you my own question, what did you think I meant?’

I hesitated. This was a dangerous game. Could he be trying to make me confess? Did he think that I was so naïve? I was tempted there and then to feed this man with lies, but looking at the expression he held, I knew he meant no harm. This was a different man to the one I had grown up around as a young spoilt lady of the court. ‘I hoped you would help me. You have influence. Between the two of us we could free them.’

‘Them?’

‘Lyle and Jacob.’

‘I see. You would like to free them both. One a traitor, fighting his own country, the other a spy?’

‘Jacob is not a spy. I know him. I have…’ I stopped and thought about it. He had come from Legosia pleading refuge. Father had made sure of his veracity. There was nothing in Eamor’s words but deception. ‘Why did he call him Richard?’ I then said, remembering for the first time what I had tried to suppress. Rheese took a long sip from his glass before replying. At first I wondered whether he did know and was trying to concoct a story which would ease my

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suffering. Instead he spoke the truth. ‘I had suspected Jacob for some time, and was on the verge of exposing him when I realised he had turned. It is quite common among some. You become attached and then you realise the enemy has become your friend; the foreign land your home. As for Richard, it is likely his first name, but who can tell?’

‘Eamor will won’t he? When he has finished with him?’ I asked, a quite horrible feeling of despair entering my very bones. Rheese shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Jacob is likely a Knight and if that is so he will be trained to endure interrogation. And if he cannot it is practice among Knights to bite off their own tongue rather than talk. I have seen it many times and though it is brave it is also foolish.

‘But I digress. You believe I can help? Well perhaps I can. You may well be aware that I have no great fondness for Eamor, who I believe has ambitions for this region.’

I paled. ‘He would marry me for my father’s lands?’

Rheese shook his head. ‘No, dear no, nothing so subtle,’ he answered with a chuckle. ‘He will either kill you or discredit you to find favour with those in power,’ he then added indifferently. ‘You have not exactly been discreet with the company you keep. Spies live in your house and you let outlaws visit you late in the night. Granted Jacob has been living in my abode these last weeks, so I am likely at risk too. Eamor Hunt is a man with no end to his ambition. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the man who had your father killed!’ I opened my mouth to reply, but found it was simply too much to take all of this in. Could Eamor have killed father? Did he want my father’s lands? And there was something else bothering me, something quite different. How did Rheese know Lyle had visited me? Was he aware of his appearance at the courtyard, under the apple tree, all those months ago? Or had he spotted

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Lyle in his own garden? Or had he seen him somewhere else? I decided that such questions were not right to be answered there and then. But the mystery troubles me still.

‘So you will use your influence?’

‘My influence only stretches so far Amelia. But I believe that I will have to call in all my favours if this night is to be successful. I only ask you this. Do you wish to help? Or would you rather leave now? I can send you on a ferry to be with Annie if that is what you wish?’

‘I want to help,’ I answered without thought, and then repeated the assertion with feeling. I realised I did not care if Lyle was an outlaw who had fought my father. I did not care that Jacob was a spy. True the former was rude, and I had found the latter intrusive, but I knew they were both loyal to me. And that was a comforting thought that wet, cold night. I knew they were better men than Eamor Hunt.

Rheese stood and played with a book on his shelf. ‘If we are to chance upon this venture then you must understand that I was loyal to your father. But life is not always so black and white my dear Amelia. As I believe you are slowly becoming to understand. That is why when you leave this house you will meet a man called Patrick Englaton.’ He waited for me to comprehend. The name rang faint bells in the recess of my mind. It then suddenly clicked.

‘Father’s groom Patrick? That old man?’

‘Not as old as you might think. He has been a loyal friend to Lyle for many a year. They served together if I am right in remembering. A long time ago. Who do you think helped Lyle escape from your father’s dungeons?’

That thought struck me and I frowned. ‘Patrick never mentioned anything about the army,’ I said, unable to believe it and yet at the same time quite angry at this man’s betrayal.

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But was it any different than Lyle’s? Or Jacob’s? Or Lord Rheese’s? For in disclosing such information, the Governor of Onis had exposed his own treachery to my father. Rheese could tell that I was thinking such and sat back down. ‘Why would Patrick confess to you? He was a servant, you a lady of court. There was no need.’ Rheese paused and took another sip of wine before continuing. ‘I loved your father,’ he said with feeling. ‘But on some things he was most demonstratively wrong. Lyle himself told you he had been wronged. And your father was quite to blame. He could be most indefatigably stubborn at times.’

‘How did you come to know Lyle?’ I asked suddenly, a sense of betrayal still raw in my heart, despite what father had done. Rheese hesitated before replying. ‘I knew his father. It pained me to see his two sons treated thus. Though his other sons, those born to another, were quite different. Lyle and Roark might have had a chance at redemption if they had chosen not to include their stepbrothers in what was at first a protest, nothing else. After that it was banditry. A poor profession for men so fine. But betrayal will do that to an honest man.’

At this point it might interest the reader of this diary to know that Lyle told me much later, on one cold night, hunched up in front of a fire, that there had been five Rangers betrayed. One died beseeching my father for the truth, the other two were none other than Rufus and Amos. I perhaps could have guessed the former, for he was loyal to both Lyle and Roark. But Amos surprised me. Apparently he went his own way when Lyle’s brothers had turned to banditry, and the movement ceased to be a remonstration. It seems the man did have honour after all. I often ask Lyle why he did not do the same, but he tells me that family must be put before honour. Though I believe if given the chance, he would not follow that same path again. It is a common fault among men, that they think family so very important.

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After a long feeling of bewilderment I recovered to shake my head with a cynicism of one who thought she knew better. ‘And what do I do when I meet Patrick?’

‘Most of the guards have been bribed, others Patrick has drugged. He will tell you where the horses are and then lead you to the dungeons, though he will not enter with you. No one will suspect a servant guiding his lady on such a foul night. But I must warn you that the plan is hasty and as such I am sure there will be some bloodshed. I had thought of a diversion at first but Eamor is clever. He will know that something is wrong and reinforce the prison. You must be quick. But this is where I must be clear. You can only save Lyle. Jacob will be in a separate cell, and likely too beaten to walk. If Lyle is to hang tomorrow, I doubt he will receive anything other than abuse. The town will be crawling with soldiers as it is. An entire brigade!

And we only have five horses. If I can I shall try and seek Jacob, for he is dear to me too,’ Rheese said with comfort, for I had quite expected to free them both and moreover Lyle’s men too! But looking back such a notion was folly. Rheese told me that the ability to travel fast and in small numbers was essential to this plan working.

At first I did not think I could leave Jacob, and told Rheese as much. The old man smiled.

‘Your loyalty and love does you credit, but he will be in another cell altogether and will be quite incapable of walking. Looking for him would only lose us time, and that is something very precious tonight. As I said, if I think there is a chance, I will seek him out. My plans had not included the rescue of two men, and nor do I have Jacob’s brother pleading his behalf.’

I frowned. ‘What do you mean? And why five horses? Who else is there other than Lyle, Patrick and I?’

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Rheese stood up, this time a sign of impatience passing across his face. He moved again to his book cabinet and picked out a random book before flicking through the pages. ‘You must remember all this Amelia. I told you Patrick will not be entering the dungeons with you. He will simply show you the way then leave. As for the other three saddles, I fully intend to come along for the ride. There is nothing here for me now, and I shall follow Annie when the time comes. I have assets in other places and Eamor will suspect me next I am sure, if you are involved.’

‘But what of the other two?’

‘Ah yes well,’ Rheese said with a grin, ‘for that I will have to show you a little secret.’

And with that Rheese returned the book, and counting along the shelf, lifted another, before seemingly touching an object on the shelf. Immediately and without sound, a section of the cabinet moved outwards to betray steps and darkness. ‘As I told you I expect bloodshed, and Jacob does not have a brother petitioning on his behalf. Gentleman please come up, it is quite safe.’

I glanced at Rheese with an expression of total bafflement, but soon the answer stepped clearly into the light. The familiar but mysterious shape of Elijah appeared from the shadows, with a solemn expression which articulated neither grief nor surprise. But behind him stepped a man wet and bloody, but quite alive. A man I had barely seen, nor exchanged more than a few words with. I knew he was a man who had murdered, but also a man who was fiercely respected. Lyle’s men called him ‘champion’. At the time I did not adhere to such fantasy. But even so Roark, Lyle’s brother, was staring at me, with an understanding only I could comprehend. ‘Amelia,’ Rheese chirped, ‘meet our partners in crime.’

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CHAPTER THIRTY

Richard’s Letter...

Torture is not something that can be described, sister, and nor is it something I wish to dwell upon. But I will recall some anecdotes in my time with Eamor that will help you understand why I chose not to serve my country.

The room I was in was quite clean, though very small. I had taken a beating on entering so that the sand coloured stones were speckled with my blood. I was then stripped to my waist and gagged before being lynched against the wall, chained head to toe. Clearly they did not wish for me to leave sister. I had not seen Eamor since the arrest; however, I was more concerned with a fiery brazier which had been placed in front of me. The direct intimidation worked. I saw the red-hot ashes glowing in the furnace and could only imagine what use it might have. If anything it made the small room as hot as the sun. There were no windows or a draught from the solid looking door. Just four walls and a low ceiling that loomed over me.

And a large mirror. Yes, sister the only decoration to this otherwise plain room was a mirror extending six feet tall and as many besides wide, staring straight at me. It wasn’t enough for me to feel the pain, I clearly had to watch my body being broken too.

Already such thoughts entered my head but it was too late now. At a time like this a man reflects back on his life in the hope that he may have achieved something worthy of note. My only thoughts dwelt on the absurdity I had placed myself in. I was beginning to wonder whether my father had bribed the instructors for I was no Knight. I made mistake after mistake and staring at the orange glow of the brazier, I was quite determined to talk. One

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thing that is common among all who suffer such ills is that nobody can shut their tongue forever. That was why we were taught to bite it off. But even if I could, I would not. I was determined to speak my mind. To disappoint Eamor and tell him all I knew in order to be spared from the barbarity of pain.

That was what I thought but when Eamor walked in alone, dressed in a fine grey tunic, I resolved to utter only defiance. His smile quite made up my mind.

Eamor walked to the mirror and stared at it. He stretched his arms and then turned, tapping his gloved hands on the edge of the furnace. ‘It is not my intention to show mercy,’ he said simply. ‘I only wish for you to be honest. Honesty might well spare you some pain, but it will not relieve you of it. Not until I am certain you are telling me what I wish to know.’ He fished the iron tongs from the brazier, sizzling white with imminent suffering. I glanced to the mirror and saw my disfigured face and my swollen purple ribs, which had taken the brute of a hasty beating. I feared one had cracked, for the pain was fierce.

Eamor did not even wait to solicit questions or indeed remove my gag. He simply placed the tongs onto my swollen ribs and grinned. I moaned with the uncontrollable agony that one feels when unbearable heat touches bruised and frail skin. If it wasn’t for my gag the whole town would have known my anguish.

But that sister is all I will reveal, for the tongs did not stop and it seemed an eternity until a question was finally asked. Eamor clearly knew his business. ‘Make no mistakes,’ he said with a malice that made me shiver, ‘what you have suffered is only a precursor to what will happen if you do not tell me all. Now,’ he growled, releasing my gag, ‘what is your name?’

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I stared at the man, every breath causing me pain, before turning away to look at the floor, the sweet merciful floor. ‘You want to play the hero? Very well,’ Eamor said with an element of glee. ‘The last man that confessed thought he was the hero and found it was not to his advantage. You see heroes are no good if they cannot walk.’

The threat made me swear at the evil little man. A profanity that made Eamor snarl. ‘No it is you that will be, if you do not answer my question. Remember I shall have your legs, but first perhaps something smaller.’ And with a speed that quite shocked me, he leaned forward and produced a jagged knife. ‘Think carefully. What do you think I could do with this? What pain could I cause?’ I said nothing. Eamor’s foul breath was enough to make me choke but the pain I felt quickly averted any impulse to vomit. Instead the man sawed down at my ear, causing me to scream with a feeling that is far worse than the cruellest kind of pain.

Once the ear was torn from my head my resolve broke. But it did not matter. I had played the hero and suffered the consequences. Consequences that shall not be revealed on this here paper or by my hand.

I was revived somewhat later to a searing and throbbing that no man should endure. A second man was now in the room and had thrown ice-cold water over my face. ‘Your name?’

Eamor asked, his impatience rising.

I could stay silent no longer.

‘I am loyal to Armintia.’

‘So you do have a voice? We are making progress; however that is not the answer I was seeking. Now your legs? I said they would be mine and I shall start from the very bottom. Your toes look very dirty,’ he added looking down. ‘Perhaps they need cleaning.’ And with such

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words the fiery tongs were placed with prolonged pressure onto my big toe. I screamed with terror and yet found no succour. I struggled with fear only to receive more punishment to the rest of my right foot. ‘Strange, but I bet you are wondering how it is you have come to be in this predicament.’

I was thinking nothing of the sort. The pain was simply too much. ‘Well let me tell you a little tale, which might loosen your tongue.

‘The battle of Onis was a heroic affair, and I am indebted to you for fighting on the Emperor’s behalf. We killed so many fine Legosians and captured a good many too.’ He grinned and my eyes met his with the certain knowledge of looming dread. ‘And you wouldn’t believe how many talked. Oh yes they all talked in the end. Mostly rubbish I grant you but there was one particular man who had a very interesting story. Went by the name of Hanglu, a captain I believe, though by the time I finished with him he was nothing but seared flesh. You heard of him?’ I closed my eyes. Captain Hanglu had been present when I had entered Falore petitioning for Croft’s release. He knew. I know he did for he had been present when father, the Marshal and I had discussed my reason for leaving Falore unscathed. He had also been present when I saw father murdered, indeed he was the officer who had tried to calm him, before the cold knife shut him up forever.

There was no advantage in staying silent now. If Hanglu had talked I was as good as dead.

‘My name is Richard de Goúth, youngest son of the late General de Goúth. I was sent here to spy for my country but never did.’

Eamor smiled. ‘Hah so you two were acquainted! You know I did find your little story a tad too unbelievable. You went to Falore to partition for the release of a one Lieutenant Croft,

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yet how on earth such a design could be achieved is beyond my comprehension, given the story you told the Count on fleeing Legosia. Indeed the story of a Colonel La Rond coming to your protection seems a little far fetched given you were a sworn enemy of the king. What could a colonel do if the king wished you dead? It would have been better if Marshal Roush himself had been your saviour. That I might have believed. But I could not find any evidence to support my suspicions until Hanglu opened his bloody trap. Now Richard, you see how I find it hard to believe that you turned your back on your country? You must admit, the evidence is rather tilted in favour of the prosecution.’

‘What does it matter?’ I groaned, the pain slowly grinding its way through my body so that my whole being convulsed with the unbearable agony. ‘You will not believe I turned yet it is true. I played my father a fool; why else did I see to it that he died?’ I said, trying to spin a conceivable lie. Eamor raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that, but his interest did not last long.

‘Almost Richard, but I believe your father’s murderer killed him to protect their own secrets, not yours. You are a Knight are you not? Are not Knights the greatest of all warriors? How could such supreme soldiers turn? Unless,’ and Eamor grinned. ‘You love that bitch Amelia don’t you?’

I tried to hide from his stare but it was of no use. The lies were exposed with a single breath. ‘You do! Hah! Well, well, then perhaps you might be telling the truth. And I had you odds on as the Count’s killer! But no pity, you can still be of some help. Simply reveal to me the other spies in Legosia’s pay and you will convince me beyond doubt that what you say is true!’

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I hesitated, the pain and the fear of yet more torture, turning my mind. I shook my head.

‘I am the only one here in Onis. Hanglu would have likely told you if there were any else.’

‘Hmm, I had thought about that, but Hanglu was only a captain, and the wrong captain in the wrong place. You weren’t even supposed to stay in Onis were you? The tongues tell me you were intended for the Emperor, which must mean there was an informant already here in Onis.’

‘I know of none.’

‘Not so loyal now are we. But you will come around. I find fire quite persuasive in the end. Shall we progress onto the shins, or the knee do you think? I give you the choice.’

Do not think ill of me sister but the fear of more pain made me talk, though even such pain was not enough to reveal all. I vomited names in the hope that every such one would bring me relief. ‘There were many,’ I said, watching the tongs approach and then hesitate.

Eamor looked at me with a flicker of disappointment. He had clearly expected this to be harder. ‘Do tell?’

‘Lyle, Roark and Rufus for one. Morcam and Eli, they were all in on it!’

‘Oh very good! Delightful in fact, but there is one problem. They are already convicted felons, sentenced to hang. Your betrayal hardly inflicts on them a sentence that is not already planned. You must do better. What about the Count’s groom, Patrick Englaton?’

I moaned through the pain. That was not a name I had heard for many a month, and nor did I know of his allegiance. I told Eamor such. ‘No matter, he shall hang regardless. But I am after bigger fish! Could it be possible that Amelia herself is involved? That she is in the pay of

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Legosia? She is reputed to be a rather outgoing girl. She reads forbidden literature, maybe she thinks forbidden thoughts, and displays forbidden, and shall we say, treacherous actions?’

‘She loved her father, if she was then I knew nothing of it,’ I replied, deciding to delay the pain by leading Eamor on this most ridiculous of paths. Eamor smiled. ‘But you do not deny it outright?’

I shrugged, knowing that I was betraying her, but unable to take the agony any longer. ‘I do not know her innermost thoughts.’

‘But she recovered remarkably well from her father’s death don’t you think?’

I closed my eyes; Eamor was a perceptive man with his fingers dipped in many secret and poisonous pies. ‘I do not believe she could.’

‘No matter, though your honesty is no longer needed. I need names, and you shall provide them for me. So we shall start again,’ Eamor snapped, producing the hot iron. ‘Is Amelia a traitor? Did she assist in your own espionage? Were you two working with Lyle all along?’

I opened my mouth. ‘But you said you believed me when I told you I turned! And I did because I loved her! You said it yourself! Please!’ I pleaded as the tongs rested close to my shins, feeling their terrible warmth. Eamor shrugged. ‘Sometimes honesty will not do. You have to see it my way. The truth hardly benefits me now does it?’

And with that there was more pain.

*

*

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*

Jack’s Memoirs...

Hope is never far away when one is in need of it. And we were a sorry bunch, hunched together in a prison that saw little light and provided nothing but a protracted misery.

I never thought I would see the world again. I knew we were doomed. We all were. And so it was a surprise to me when my life was spared. In order to confront the perfidious accusations thrown about by wagging and ignorant tongues, I Jack Talkville did not talk. I would have rather died than betray my friends. They simply told me my life would be spared.

One score and more were crammed into a dark cold cell. Still, at least it meant we were reacquainted with an old friend. He looked quite terrible granted. But then we were all a sorry bunch to look at. The mood did not help. Some men cried, others simply sat and brooded, knowing that they would soon die. Others, less brave, argued, like fearful children.

But such misery quite escaped some. I was depressed beyond all hope. Eli cursed while Lyle sat silent. It was only Morcam who kept up the cheer. I do not believe the man thought he would die. But then he was such a fine fellow, why should he?

Extracts from Turncoat...

‘Blaalach or Finigan?’ Morcam asked turning to me then to Rufus, who had spent many dark days alone. The company seemed to invigorate him. But surely he knew our capture meant only one thing. I shrugged. ‘What does it matter?’

‘Oh it matters a lot. Blaalach was a charlatan who knew nothing of music and could barely play the piano. Finigan was a genius. His concertos are unique. I had a mind to take up the ivories when I heard his First Concerto in D Minor.’

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‘Overrated,’ Rufus replied, quite ready to forget his ringing verse. Morcam pulled a face that thought differently. ‘Are you trying to eek an argument out of me young man?’

Rufus grinned. ‘Finigan plays without feeling and has very little meaning. His music is rushed and should not excite any fuss.’

‘Much like your poetry,’ Morcam grunted. ‘But he was a good violinist, you’ve got to give him that.’

‘Again,’ I said slowly, ‘what does it matter?’

‘Well if I had a violin, I would show you,’ Morcam grunted quite offended. He looked around hopefully. ‘Don’t suppose anyone has one perchance?’

I shook my head. ‘You made more sense when you were drunk.’

‘Life made more sense,’ Morcam muttered now quite downcast, finally succumbing to the misery. I looked up and rubbed my right leg, numb to the cold and cramp. ‘I have often wondered,’ I then said, ‘how you amongst all these villains, ended up an outlaw?’

Morcam glanced at Lyle. ‘A long uninteresting tale. Dull, boring and quite frankly none of your business. But since you insist,’ he added with a grin. ‘I was one of the emperor’s chief gardener’s. A very good one too. And everybody knew it. Some were jealous because of it. One hateful little man wanted my job and so conspired to ruin me.’

‘Clearly he succeeded,’ I said. ‘I never knew gardeners were so competitive.’

‘Bastard,’ Eli muttered, unable to hide his own affection for the paternal botanist.

‘Quite so.’

‘So what did he do?’ I asked.

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‘He caught me with my trousers down, quite literally,’ Morcam grunted, shaking his head. ‘You see back then I was rather fond of a good old drink after a long hard day’s work.’

‘Would never have guessed it,’ I replied. Morcam nodded. ‘Quite so,’ he said, my sarcasm somewhat escaping him. ‘Well anyway one night, it shames me to say it, I got so inebriated that I passed out. It seemed my comatose state presented my nemesis with an opportunity, one which a certain blonde was quite willing to fill.’

‘Bitch.’

‘My thoughts exactly Eli. I am not a lascivious man; however, the bitch was very convincing. Next thing I know I wake up with my trousers round my ankles and with a naked lady on my lap. I felt violated.’

‘Could think of worse things to wake up to,’ Lyle then said, speaking for the first time.

Morcam shrugged. ‘Well that might be so, but this damned blonde was the mistress of some important general and when he found out I was fondling her I was accused of being a drunk and a fornicator. Something that is frowned upon when exposed in public. I pleaded my case but was disgraced. By then I was so angry I rather lost my temper with the bastard who had conspired to see me disgraced. I realised that such a misdemeanour would not look good in court so I jumped ship and hopped it. Damned embarrassing really.’

‘You killed him?’ Eli asked with relish.

‘Oh bless no, but I gave him a damned good thrashing. However, I learnt my lesson after that.’

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‘What, drink as much as you can?’ I asked, exciting a prickly response from the good doctor. He shook his head. ‘No just this; beware of promiscuous women and bad beer. The two do not bode well if one wishes long life and clean living.’

That made us all a little more cheery for a time, but such feelings did not last long. For not long after, those that could sleep were awakened by a hooded priest who arrived flanked by two guards. Morcam twitched. ‘Not good.’

‘Why?’ Eli asked staring at the priest with an aura of uncertainty. The doctor glanced at Lyle who sniffed. ‘Last rites.’

‘Could be worse,’ I grunted, knowing that it would be a mercy to some just to be given their last confession. I was thus quite surprised when nobody acquiesced to the priest’s gift of redemption. ‘What does it matter, we’ll hang anyway,’ one man said. Others nodded in assent and the priest was ready to leave when Morcam coughed. ‘Bugger it; I might as well hope for a better chance in the afterlife. You do private confessionals?’ The priest looked at the guards who stepped forward. Morcam sniffed. ‘I wasn’t actually being serious,’ he said under his breath.

‘Who asked you to come?’ Lyle asked, hope rising as he tried to stand. The priest gave no answer and Morcam was quickly led out at sword point. I found the whole affair strange. Was Eamor betraying compassion?

‘Something isn’t right,’ Lyle grunted, echoing my thoughts. ‘Nelson was never granted a priest.’

‘Perhaps the gaoler has a soft spot,’ I suggested.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Lyle snapped.

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‘Somebody’s emptied his purse you think?’ one man mused.

‘Don’t make no sense,’ Eli admitted.

‘Life is senseless,’ Rufus announced bluntly. Perhaps he was right. However, I was resolved to think it meant our sentence had been passed; we were dead men waiting. The law exposed our guilt. Though others were more culpable than some. And clearly Lyle decided honesty was the best course before death.

‘On the theme of confessions,’ he said hoarsely, ‘there is something you should all know, that is if we are to die.’

A feeling of apprehension soon crept into my consciousness. These weren’t words I wanted to hear from my leader. Out of the corner of my sight I also noticed Rufus shaking his head. His face was bleak and pleading, strange emotions from an otherwise unflappable man.

Lyle shrugged. ‘You must all know the truth behind our misfortunes.’

‘I didn’t realise there was one,’ I replied, as spokesman for the group. Lyle shrugged as if to say that did not matter. ‘Even so, you must all know that we were loyal to the gang, if not our nation.’

‘But our squabble was with the Count was it not?’ another man asked.

‘It was, but at the same time it was against our nation, who betrayed us,’ Lyle answered, glancing to Rufus. ‘And because of that betrayal there were some who turned to Legosia as their paymaster.’

‘Like you?’ I asked sharply. Lyle smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘I did when my brother turned yes, as did Rufus. In hindsight it seems foolish but back then we were desperate and angry, fearsomely angry.’

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Eli shrugged. ‘So you helped the Legosians, what does that matter?’

‘It matters to some,’ Lyle replied, eyeing me with suspicion. ‘For we sold information, though neither of us are proud to admit it. Information that aided the Legosian Expeditionary Force in their invasion. I suspect Eamor knows this somehow, and that is why you all will hang. Not that we defied the Count, but that we betrayed our country.’

‘Piss on them,’ Eli growled loyally, though murmurings from others did not seem so devout. I couldn’t believe such a betrayal, but one only had to turn to Rufus to see it was true.

Even so I did not like the implication that Lyle made. ‘So you joined because of Roark?’

‘I could not abandon them,’ he replied, his eyes burning into Rufus with tearful repentance. ‘What’s done is done.’

‘You bastard!’ someone barked. ‘You let us believe we were fighting for the right cause, for the right bloody side.’

‘We were never on the right side in the eyes of the law,’ Lyle snapped.

‘Aye,’ I grunted, ‘but how many would have followed you knowing you were playing cards for another table? And how can you accuse Roark when he is not here to defend himself?’

‘Don’t be so naïve to think he is blameless,’ Lyle growled.

‘At least he cared about us,’ someone muttered and at that silence reigned victorious throughout the sorry prison. Betrayal is a hard beast to shrug, especially one so deceptive as Lyle Ramtk. A man who cared for nothing but himself. He would gladly see us hang, if it meant he could be freed.

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After a long while and little sleep we waited, now resolved to die as spies as well as outlaws, such was the sentence that would be passed. There was a feeling of inevitability, and I hated Lyle for telling the truth. I would have rather he suffered his secrets to the end.

Most of our troop were practical and simple souls, but I, like some, saw the betrayal as something far great than mere dishonesty. Manipulation, treachery, murder. For a long time Lyle had been detached from the gang and in doing so he isolated opinion. There was no doubting his ability. Only, it would seem his loyalty. I had seen his face when our comrades breathed their last, I saw it that very evening, when men died around us; there was nothing.

No grief, no concern. Just selfish scorn.

Likewise nobody had bothered to reveal the sobering reality concerning Morcam’s failure to return. It seemed he had already met his fate. The priest had played us a fool and only someone of pure innocence could think anything other than a ghastly demise. It came then as little comfort when we heard talking from the corridor and feet that could only mean one thing. Clearly we were doomed to end our lives without a trial.

The door opened with a terrible noise so that we stared through the bars that separated us from freedom with curses and indifference. I lifted my head only to jump and see two figures staring at us. One seemed so ill that he leaned against the other, unable to walk. The other grinned with malevolent delight. ‘Gentleman awake! Awake! And hear your sentence!’

We all glared to see Eamor triumphant, pushing the prone figure he was supporting down onto the cold floor. ‘It seems only right that I tell you now of your fate. The emperor in his esteemed wisdom has issued his decree. Lyle and Rufus will hang and anyone who has aided their treachery shall do likewise. Those that have shown repentance and have served for less

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than a year will be spared and shall suffer in the darkest prison, without any hope of seeing the sun again; such is the emperor’s mercy. As dawn transcends you will watch your comrades swing, knowing that you could have joined them,’ he added, kicking the unconscious figure.

‘As for this man, he is a traitor and a Legosian spy and will suffer the fate of his confidents.’

We all looked down to see who the unfortunate soul was, so black and so bloodied. It wasn’t until Eamor left that his identity was revealed. ‘Jacob?’ Lyle then uttered, ‘is that you?’ voicing and confirming his charge of treachery and duplicity. We all knew then that he was the traitor he confessed to be.

Nevertheless, there was naught else I could think of but this: how long had I served the Ramtk brothers? There was some hope at last.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Richard’s Letter...

‘There is no pleasing some people,’ were the words I heard as I woke from a terrible dream into an interminable torrent of pain. The man who had spoken was Morcam and it seemed the men listening to his explanation were both worried and relieved. They did not notice me waken and so I listened, still unsure as to where I was.

‘Thought that priest had taken some liberties,’ one man said.

‘We thought you were being buggered, you know what priests are like,’ another added.

‘Don’t be daft Eli, he was a very nice man and has bequeathed to me a task before I die. A penance if you like. Now what have I missed? Oh Jacob when did you wake?’

I tried to speak but the throbbing was too much. I, like the others, had long since been resigned to death. There was no feeling of hope, nothing that a priest could heal. I was ready for it, in fact I pleaded for it to come. And now, sitting in this bed, I beg for it to take me.

Death has been cruel to wait so long.

Today Seamus read me the beginning of a book he had commandeered from the hospital library. It was about two men who hated one another, but depended on each other to survive.

It was suppose to be a comedy but the prose were tragic and the characters bland. I often wonder if Seamus does it to me as a form of punishment. He certainly ignored my mute protests to stop. But perhaps he was cheering me up sister, for I have been told that the rot has come again. They take my leg but yet it still lingers. I have been given days. Maybe now I shall ask for the priest.

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What I have left to write will not take that long.

There was a sharp torture inside me, like that of a jagged knife constantly twisting flesh.

Sleep only came when the pain became too much, and even then I still felt it. The pain clung to me and no matter how much I tried, it would not let go. It is the same pain that I feel now, and it will only leave when my soul finally flees this broken body. Amelia had said she would come for me, but I am glad she has not. I am but flesh, deformed and disfigured. An invalid whose entire body is slowly rotting away. They say I smell, that I am rotten. The other patients have complained, but Seamus still insists on reading. I think part of him knows that it could easily be him dying on a bed, with a gangrenous poison eating his flesh. But his wound became clean. Mine has stayed black.

After listening to broken conversation for what seemed an eternity, but was likely only a matter of moments, I tried with all my effort to rouse Lyle’s attention. He was sitting with his back to the wall, deep in thought while Morcam played chess with Rufus; a gift he had received from a gracious priest. There was a bleak expression of utter resignation moulded across a face that had seen more than a few days neglect. But that did not matter now. He knew that. He had gone down a road that led only one way. At least now the destination was in sight.

‘You look ill,’ he eventually said, his stare still fixed on the bars ahead. I realised then that I had not been placed behind them, only left to die where I lay. Eamor knew I would not have the strength to escape. I fashioned a grin of sorts but soon decided against it. ‘My lies found me out.’

‘You tried,’ Lyle consoled, ‘others would have sooner given up.’

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I thought of Amelia. The one reason that kept me from doing just that. ‘She is in danger,’ I croaked with more than a little effort. Lyle shrugged. ‘We all are. I doubt even Roark will escape it this time. Eamor Hunt isn’t just a name, it is his very nature. I heard he chose it in favour of his family title. The man will stop at nothing.’

‘Rescue?’ I whispered, the pain rising like bile.

‘My brother won’t risk it, not even for me.’

‘Trap,’ I then groaned, unable to articulate the threat that loomed in my mind. The threat Eamor had delighted in telling me. Lyle didn’t seem to hear me and instead yawned. ‘Strange how tired one gets and yet how far one is from achieving sleep. My mind is racing with thoughts and regrets I didn’t even knew I possessed. If only I had chosen a different path, but then would I have still met Amelia?’

‘You would change…past?’

Lyle thought about it for a second before shaking his head. ‘No. She released me from my bitterness Jacob, why would I wish to change that?’

I opened my eyes and stared at him. ‘Hang at dawn.’

Lyle smiled. ‘Better to die than never have known her.’

‘Better to live.’ And with that we all stopped. Rufus and Morcam their game of chess. Eli his cursing and Talkville his brooding. For though muffled and fleeting we all heard it. The fire of a gun. A small one, likely a pistol. But the noise was unmistakeable. ‘You heard that then?’

Talkville asked nervously. We all did. Lyle most of all. ‘You think your dear brother hasn’t forgotten about us after all?’ Morcam chanced. Nothing. There was no other noise. Eli shouted

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for the guard but received only echoes. Lyle shook his head. ‘A drunk no doubt,’ he said dismissively, sitting back down.

‘No wait, listen!’ Eli grunted. We strained, me most of all. I could hear nothing, only my own pain, but the others confessed to the sound of footsteps. ‘Two,’ Lyle confirmed, ‘one light and rushed, the other firm but practised.’ I did not hear that, but one did not need the ear of a huntsman to realise they were searching for something. ‘Strange behaviour for guards to lose something,’ Morcam muttered.

‘Aye, and it will be our door next.’

Sure as could be our door slowly opened. I tried to turn and see who had disturbed our last requiem, but the pain proved too much.

*

*

*

Amelia’s Diary...

Patrick Englaton did not say a word when I met him. He simply looked away; his flagrant guilt hid another perfidious secret. One he did not tell me until he departed.

The rain did not relent that night. Streams and torrents ran where only a few days ago, men and women walked. Puddles were lakes and lakes now great oceans. Everywhere around Onis began to slowly submerge, succumbing to the season of floods. Onis itself, on a tiny spur and with defences that kept the banks from breaking, survived. The only route on horseback was north, which would make the flight a predictable and dangerous one. The ground would

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be sodden there too, treacherous for horsemen at a gallop. But I was assured by Elijah that the rain would soon hide our tracks.

It was clear too that the majority of the guards were to the north, though how many were loyal to Eamor, we did not know. In all it was a desperate occasion, but one that was worth risking. Somehow we all knew there would be nothing left for us here anyway. Better to do and regret, than regret not doing what could be done. Or so goes the saying.

For nigh on two hours we planned, schemed and discussed. I do not mind admitting that I was not a natural conspirator, nor would I make a very good spy. Things were repeated to me that I quite forgot and explained to me which I did not understand, so that in the end it was agreed I would meet Roark at the dungeon. If all else failed I could pretend he had surrendered to me. Not that such a desperate tale would convince a man of any sense, but it was better than no story at all. It was not that I was scared or dim-witted; it was just that my thoughts dwelt on the man, or men, for my mind still wrestled with the notion of leaving Jacob and choosing only Lyle. I was hopelessly distracted, but it seemed my role was crucial. Only I could enter the dungeons and present an excuse that would not seem so absurd. Though how Rheese fathomed such was beyond my comprehension. It was clear he felt his presence was no longer akin to loyalty.

I asked Rheese if it would work, if we would somehow achieve what felt impossible. He patted me on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly. ‘More money than thought has gone into it,’ he admitted. ‘But then in such times bribery can be quite a useful ally. Do not fret for there may be more than one surprise tonight.’ And with that I left. The rain thrashed down and I

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walked the quiet streets, unable to escape the feeling of being watched. The cloak I wore did little against the rain, and I was soon wet and cold once again.

I walked down two streets and back up another, just as I was told. Then I waited two minutes and walked down the main square before turning right and then left. There was part of me that wanted to be caught, to be rid of this madness. My mind raced with panic and alarm, how had I let myself follow this path of treachery?

I searched my heart and found my answer.

I followed the street down, conscious of the gloom and rain. My eyes saw nothing until a figure stepped from the shadows. And there as promised, Patrick stood, loitering close to a door. I heard the movement of feet but when Patrick stepped forward he dismissed the threat.

‘Just soldiers patrolling. You’re my lady and we are visiting a friend.’ That was his story, and I shivered when I did not find it convincing. There was a time when nobody would have questioned my movements, but even now my own guilt conspired against my conscience.

Patrick beckoned me inside and I stepped from the rain only to enter a publican house. It was empty but for the bartender. ‘Don’t mind him,’ Patrick grunted, sitting down. My face creased with uncertain nervousness. I had been told we would have to wait; I did not expect to suffer the indignity of a whorehouse, be it a deserted one or not. ‘So what is our story now?’ I asked. Patrick peered from the window. ‘My lady wishes refreshments,’ he said without turning to me. I knew we were here to avoid the patrols but something about the man made me hesitant. ‘Are you sure I am not your whore?’

‘Do not be silly my lady,’ Patrick replied, with a sideways glance. ‘They would take one look at me and then one look at you and ask me how I could afford such a clean filly, beg your

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pardon miss.’ He went to peering from the window again, avoiding my haughty scowl. What did it matter as long as we were safe?

After a short while he leaned back and grinned. ‘I suppose I surprise you somewhat? Not the old groom you thought I was?’

I shrugged. ‘Little surprises me anymore.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ Patrick replied sharply, jumping from his chair. ‘Time to go.’

I did not feel like retreating back into the rain, for fear of what would happen if we failed. Part of me wanted to flee, and I thought I might have done, if I knew where.

The treacherous night and implacable rain terrified me and yet much to my relief, the subsequent journey was mercifully short. ‘It seems Rheese’s money has worked thus far,’ Patrick said with a grin. Even I had to admit that. The patrols had curiously avoided our path and the building was missing the customary complement of guards. ‘There are still many loyal to Rheese, though I find money does tend to help secure such dependability,’ Patrick explained, scanning the streets. ‘Though the price will be for a limited time only,’ he added tetchily, ‘which is why I must depart. Farewell and Godspeed my lady. I do not regret aiding in the misfortunes of your fiancé but I can never forgive myself for what happened to your father.’ He looked up at me with eyes that possessed a flicker of impudence rather than sincerity. ‘Always be prepared for surprises,’ he concluded. And with that he was gone. Quite out of place, but it is remarkable what a man will say when confronted with the notion of death. Or that is what I told myself, for there did seem to be something of the man which simply rejected any semblance of remorse. He was a traitor after all. And some traitors do not

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forget their colours, despite the testament I have in Lyle and Jacob, who are attestations to the contrary.

I found myself alone once again, waiting in the rain for another traitor. It seemed a strange world that I, the daughter of a Count, was helping those who had opposed my own dear father! But then the words of Rheese rang true, decisions, places and events are never so black and white. The shade of grey which blinds reason from uncertainty will forever live dominant in the spectrum of life.

It did not surprise me then, when Roark appeared beside me as quiet as the grave itself.

He looked at me with indifference, and tried the door without a word. It opened into silent gloom. ‘Nobody,’ I said to myself, earning a disapproving look from Lyle’s older brother.

‘Do not be so sure,’ a voice chuckled from the catacombs of the dark. It was a voice I recognised and when a light appeared from the wall close by, I saw a man holding a pistol. A man I knew well. For amid the shadow I saw the vile face of Captain L’breé and shivered with shock when his pistol steered towards me. His face was creased with age, and scarred from recent battle, but other than that, it was the same hateful man. He laughed as I failed to hide my contempt. ‘Lower your weapon at once captain!’ I shouted indignantly. ‘How dare you!

Roark has surrendered to me!’

‘Do not think me a fool my lady, I know where your loyalties lie, not much better than a whore! Eamor has ordered your arrest,’ he added with delight. ‘You think we did not know about this little plan of yours? So thoughtless and so ill-conceived!’ he spat with scorn. ‘Where did you find the money my dear?’ I blinked. It seemed the bribes only paid for loyalty to Lord Rheese, no other.

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I glanced at the door, judging the probability of my escape. L’breé shook his head, reading my lucid thoughts. ‘No use my lady, the building is surrounded. You think somebody would not notice the guards down yonder poisoned? You think we are fools?’

‘I think you talk too much,’ Roark grunted, speaking for the first time. He had been so quiet I had almost forgotten him. L’breé spat with forceful distain. ‘So the famous Roark has shown himself once again. Discard your weapon if you please. I know you have one.’ He saw my look of perplexity and laughed. ‘If I had meant to kill you, you would be dead by now. But the Emperor wishes you arrested and hanged in public rather than shot in private!’

He pointed his pistol back towards Roark, who slowly discarded a concealed weapon from his ankle. ‘Curious,’ Lyle’s brother then said, ‘that it is just you here and nobody else. For surely if Eamor knew, he would entrust our capture to more than one man. Unless of course he does not know and you stumbled across the guards by chance.’

‘They’re outside waiting for you. You can step to the door and wave if you wish. Take the chance, I don’t care. As long as we have the girl. You might as well be dead to me, I’ve spent enough time searching for you,’ L’breé growled, taking a step forward. ‘Now on your knees with your hands behind your head,’ he grunted, taking a chain from his belt and hovering towards Roark. It was clear who he thought the threat was. And with good reason.

Not for one moment did Roark seem scared or surprised by our predicament. He simply knelt slowly and smiled. The first time I had seen him do so, and it was not a smile that inspired happiness. Rather it quite made me shiver with a dreadful chill.

L’breé was careful. He stepped slowly towards Roark and chained one hand first, all the time keeping his pistol from reach. He then stepped round and began to chain the other. I

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waited for Roark to resist, but he did not. With both hands chained together I watched as L’breé smiled triumphantly and turned towards me.

That was his one mistake.

As quick as the wind and as deadly as the sea Roark moved. The motion was so fluid I had scarce time to think. One moment L’breé was standing, the next the two men were on the floor. At that point the pistol fired and then dropped from L’breé’s grip so that the two wrestled frantically until suddenly the captain went limp. Then after a brief agonising pause Roark slowly stood, gingerly assessing the corpse and holding a slim knife. He stared at me and I at him until I realised the bullet had passed through his shoulder. ‘You are hurt.’

‘It will not kill me,’ he answered with a glance to L’breé, whose throat was leaking a small river of blood. Despite his confidence I tore some cloth from my cloak and wrapped it tightly round his shoulder. And despite his protests he did not resist. ‘You know at first I did not understand my brother when he said he had fallen in love,’ Roark then said, staring at me.

He flinched as I pulled the cloth and smiled. ‘But you can now?’

Roark shrugged and stood, gently refusing any further attention. ‘Just be careful. My brother has a silver tongue but that does not make him a saint.’

‘Perhaps I do not wish for a saint,’ I replied. Roark laughed. ‘Like I said, at first I did not understand why.’ And with that he walked down the steps that led to the dungeons.

And to Lyle. Who loved me.

*

*

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*

Extracts from Turncoat...

Given the light or the lack thereof, I found it mightily impressive that Rufus could see his pieces, he choosing to fight with black. They both took the game a little too seriously, Morcam declaring it a matter of life and death. ‘I’ll be damned if I lose my last ever game of chess to a rundown poet who hasn’t had a damned thing published in five long years.’ The joke was not lost on us and we decided to take bets, though we had nothing worth gambling with. Strange how we escaped into this alternate world. But then how else were we to cope?

‘Chess is all about knowing your enemy. Knowing the art of war and when to strike, that is why I will win,’ Morcam declared, making the first move, a knight prancing over the line of pawns.

‘Poet or gardener?’ one man asked another.

‘I’ll have ten on Morcam,’ another replied confidently. I raised an eyebrow. ‘You do realise poetry is not Rufus’s true profession right?’

‘Third Regiment Armintian Rangers,’ Rufus declared, disposing of Morcam’s foolhardy knight. Morcam scratched his chin. ‘That may well have slipped my mind,’ he admitted. ‘So used to him pretending to be a rhymester. Bugger,’ he added watching his rook meet the same fate.

‘Quite.’

‘I knew a bloke once,’ Eli revealed, chewing absently on his nails, ‘never lost a game of chess in his life. Cockie they called him.’

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‘Did he have a secret as pretender to this invincibility?’ Morcam grunted, his eyes fixed on his dwindling pieces. Eli nodded. ‘Aye he’d throw a tantrum if he thought he’d lose and kick the board over.’

‘How civilised.’

‘Worked though. Never lost a game.’

‘I do believe,’ I stated, ‘that kicking the board over is tantamount to forfeiting.’

Eli shrugged. To him it did not matter. The losing was in the detail. ‘How many of us going to swing then?’ he asked, unable to cope with the strategic silence. ‘How’s Eamor going to decide anyway?’

‘Don’t be such a fool, he has a file on every one of us,’ Morcam grunted, his temper festering. He clearly did not like losing.

In a surreptitious case of denial I chose to stay quiet. Nobody wanted to hear who lived and who wouldn’t. All they cared about was the game of chess or conversations that had little or no significance. That was how men coped. They simply chose to ignore their fate. I realised that most of these men were going to die and I would watch them. Surely there is no worse a punishment?

It was then when we heard the gunshot. Everybody stopped and stared, hoping their ears would hear yet more hymns of joy. We did not. However, disappointment soon turned to hope when footsteps were heard.

We waited, hoping. Two things we did with great practice. There was little else we could do. ‘Our door next,’ someone said in anticipation.

He was right.

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Our door opened slowly and a chained figure stepped from the light bleeding, with a woman at his side. There was no mistaking our saviour.

It was our champion, Roark. He had come to set us free.

That was what we thought. That was what we hoped.

But alas, it was not what became.

I soon recognised the woman as the Lady Amelia. She stepped into the prison only to scream. Roark too seemed troubled. They both had eyes for Jacob, the terrible traitor, lying twisted on the floor. ‘I can’t do it,’ Amelia then said, turning her pleading eyes to Roark.

*

*

*

Amelia’s Diary...

My heart started thumping against my chest so loud I was convinced Roark would hear my fright. But there was little I could do but follow.

Down the stone steps we went before joining a corridor littered with many doors. There I saw the guards lying prostrate, poisoned and harmless. How Patrick had achieved such a feat I do not know. We tried doors, some were locked others were empty. Roark assured me we would not need a key, but then I never knew a man more confident.

Eventually we came upon the door that revealed our desire. Roark stepped forward first and entered the room, leaving me to push past. On entering I was exposed to a room that had been hastily constructed as a prison. It was larger than most we had searched and attracted the

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least light. The most common feature was the barrier, for two thirds of the dungeon was blocked by great iron bars. It was evident Eamor had been busy.

Through the bars I saw many men, dejected and lifeless, shielding their eyes from the flicker of light behind. They were a beleaguered bunch; no one man appeared healthy or robust. Lyle, close to the front, seemed somewhat amazed but my eyes soon left his hopeful stare to rest on a figure laid next to my feet. I did not need to look long to see past the disfigurement. ‘Jacob!’ I cried shocked, turning instinctively to Roark. The feeling inside me was of a choice unbearable, a choice forlorn and damned.

‘I cannot do it,’ I then found myself saying, my eyes filling with desperate resignation.

Roark said nothing. ‘Rheese had said he would not be here!’ I added accusingly, kneeling to comfort a confused and beaten Jacob. But Roark simply stared, as if ignoring my protestations, his eyes fixed on the gaol ahead.

Then slowly his own eyes began to crack and tears broke his longing stare. He made an effort to breathe, then shook his head, stepping forward. ‘Who has the key?’ he asked with difficulty, a statement that quite mystified the courageous inmates. I then saw Morcam stand and reveal the means of our rescue. ‘Like I said,’ I heard him say, ‘the priest was a very nice man.’

When Roark took the key he gave me a sidelong look and nodded, resigned to his fate. It was the man known as Eli who asked the inconsolable question. ‘How are we getting out?’

Roark paused and shook his head mournfully. ‘The city garrison numbers a whole brigade,’ he explained. ‘One battalion patrol the flooded lands to the south. The rest guard the only conceivable exit to the north and we do not have enough horses…’

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‘So what? You saying we ain’t all going with you?’ asked one of the more intelligent of the group. Roark stared at the man who had spoken, a pale looking villain, with bright, sharp eyes. ‘I am saying there was only enough money to buy one person’s freedom. If the rain had delayed a few more days then you might have had a chance. But outside you face certain death.’

‘We face that in here,’ someone muttered knowingly. Roark grunted and turned the key.

‘Even so, it is time we paid for our crimes. If staying here means my brother might survive then so be it,’ he added, offering a hand to Lyle. ‘Escaping will achieve nothing.’

‘Who gets to decide he goes!’ the same man growled. Roark glared at him and snarled. ‘I do!’ By then I realised what he was doing and tried to protest, but the words would not form.

He could not be sacrificing himself surely? But as Lyle took my hand and leaned towards Jacob, I knew his mind had been made up. Roark looked at me and smiled. ‘This way you do not have to decide.’ I shook my head but Lyle was already moving, hoisting Jacob over his shoulder. He knew more than anybody, Roark would not change his mind once it had been set. More men began to protest but on stepping through the barred doorway, Lyle’s brother handed me the key. ‘Lock it and run. You have five minutes, maybe less before the signal is raised. You must reach Rheese and the horses. Remember which streets and do not hesitate.’

‘You can’t do this!’ I cried, though my hands betrayed my thoughts and locked the gate. I felt Lyle grab my hand, the younger pausing to turn back. ‘Any man wishing to chance his luck, this is your time?’ Every soul gazed to Roark, who slowly shook his despondent head. ‘I will not be the cause of another man’s death.’

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‘We will go!’ a figure shouted, walking to the front. He was followed by five others. The spokesman shot an apologetic look to Roark. ‘Better dead out there with a chance, than dead in here with no chance.’

‘Aye!’ said another.

‘Can’t deny that,’ cried yet another still, until fourteen such men stood waiting to be free.

I looked to Lyle and then to Roark, filled with panic and fear. The eldest then waved his hand dismissively, and with considerable anger. ‘Very well, let them die!’ And with that I unlocked the gate to let a dozen and more souls barge past me and run for their freedom. There were no farewells, no conversations or plans, just a swift exodus.

Only two had it in mind to wait. They looked at me, then to Lyle. ‘If you have a plan we’ll follow as far as we can,’ one said. At that I froze, unable to breathe and unable to move, unable to even think. Which street did I need to turn down next? Where were Rheese and the horses? How much time did I have left? ‘Bugger this,’ shot one, his impatience spent and left with a curt and hasty apology. I shook my head. ‘I can’t do this!’

‘Yes you can,’ a voice reassured. I turned despite my tears to feel Roark’s comforting touch through the bars. ‘Just remember the plan and forget the others.’

‘We must go now,’ Lyle said pleadingly. He glanced at his brother. ‘Last chance?’

Roark shook his head. ‘Go, for Amelia’s sake. And do as she says!’ Lyle nodded and turned to leave. ‘And brother!’ Roark added, inviting me to take one last look. But Lyle was already gone, carrying Jacob, with the one loyal comrade close behind. ‘I am sorry!’

I heard the words echo down the corridor but knew I could hesitate no longer. With tears streaming I left.

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Left Roark and nine other men to die. Men who had chosen to stay with their champion.

Stay and give us a chance.

It was said later that the alarm was raised when a guard found L’breé’s body stripped naked and that on investigating the prison, found just ten solitary souls. Rumour has it that if only Lyle had left as planned then the hunt would not have been raised quite so quickly. Still, others tell me the bells rang first when one unlucky prisoner was caught. It does not matter, for I lived.

And to this day I will not forget Roark’s sacrifice.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Richard’s Letter...

The feeling of helplessness is one such emotion I have had to wrestle with for many months now sister. The certainty of death not that much longer. For the doctor has only confirmed what my heart has known. I write this last hastily, for the pain is too much. Could it be that the rot has finally invaded my heart? Seamus sits quiet by my side, watching me write. He provides me with the paper now. They all do. The priest, the nurse. Even the doctor generously gives so that his patient may die contented. Such a man does not know the mind of his patients!

So then sister, I shall write as long as my hand will allow. But know I love you and that I am sorry. I beg of you to come and find my body. Take me home so that I can finely be at rest.

The cold chill of the night soon woke me from my bitter dreams. It came as a shameful surprise to find myself staring at the backside of a man I soon learned to be Lyle’s. Our pace was a frantic one, and as I looked back I saw a figure striding behind us. I recognised him from the battle as a man known as Graves. The nickname was a tribute to his profession.

On turning again, and feeling Lyle’s grip fade I heard a woman’s voice shriek out a swift command. It was then that I realised it was raining. And raining hard. As we stopped Graves noticed I was awake and grinned, holding what looked like a chair leg in his hands. A poor substitute for a rifle. ‘We’re all going to die,’ I found myself saying, but nobody took any interest.

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It seemed the woman, a pale reflection of Amelia, was arguing with Lyle. ‘This is the way!’ she shouted. I cringed instinctively, but luckily the rain meant her voice did not travel far. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No, but then Roark was suppose to lead the way,’ she replied, walking that way regardless. How many patrols would be marching the streets I did not know, but despite her anxiety, fortune seemed to prevail. It was then I remembered Eamor’s boast. He told me he knew there would be an attempt. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he wanted me to think Amelia would be caught. Or maybe he just knew.

It did not matter for on that thought I heard a cry from afar and then the chilling rhythm of bells ringing. ‘They know!’ Graves grunted, impulse leading him closer to the shadows and the security of the building we stood against. Lyle grunted impatience. ‘How much further?’ he asked, his question clearly directed at Amelia.

‘Two more streets.’ We then heard shots fired and shouting, close enough to hurry us along. Lyle grunted again, my weight was beginning to tell. ‘Let me down,’ I then said, quite startling my carrier. Lyle gripped me tighter. ‘You can barely stand, let alone run.’

‘That doesn’t matter if you’re dead. I’ll keep up.’

‘You have no shoes!’ Amelia cried. I laughed. My blistered foot felt almost bliss in the cold constant rain. Shoes were quite out of the question. ‘Just let me down and stop waiting. I can run two streets!’

With that Lyle leaned down and let me slide to the ground. Pressure was released from my burning ribs yet my head still throbbed with a pain that shot through every part of my body. But I was resolved, and with an effort I pushed myself up, wincing as my foot felt the

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broken and jagged road. ‘Now go!’ I grunted, irritated. Lyle did not need another excuse and neither did Graves, but Amelia shot me a sympathetic and concerned look.

By then the shouts and the gunfire were numerous and getting louder. I heard soldiers barking orders, volleys rifling into unsuspecting corpses. And all the time the bells kept ringing. A monotonous and chilling sound.

It did not take long for my foot to start bleed, nor for me to fall behind; such was my second torture that night. It was left to Graves to support me, a deed I was grateful for. But one which he soon regretted.

It was when we turned the last corner that we heard the cry we had been dreading.

‘There they are!’ I glanced to see a half dozen soldiers running towards us, down the very street we had just headed. An order was followed by a volley and I soon found my support gone as Graves spun round, crashing to the floor. A bullet had hit his chest, and yet he still clung to his weapon, be it a simple wooden stick or not. ‘Go!’ he shouted, spitting blood. I did not need a second invitation and rounded the corner to see Lord Rheese holding an ancient firearm, and clutching the reins of five frightened horses, thrashing and neighing out with understandable fear. The bells ringing and the bullets firing were enough to scare any untrained beast.

I watched as a rifle was pressed into Lyle’s hand and then allowed Amelia to lead me to a horse. Firing whizzed overhead and in my dizziness I could not understand why the soldiers chasing were soon retreating, with three among them dead. I was on my horse and off before the answer was revealed to me. For alas it was the brave and noble Elijah who put an end to my confusion! He was running forward with several men I knew to be part of his Flock. They

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fired then ran, as if skirmishing in the wild, hunting as pairs. No man could confront such a terrifying and skilful demonstration. I watched and watched as his men rounded the corner pursuing their prey. Elijah lingered then took his own horse. ‘I shall lead them off best I can.

Do not stop or wait!’ He handled a second rifle then kicked his gelding into a canter, steering skilfully with his thighs before disappearing into the night. I do not know if he is dead or not sister. But you must remember his actions so that at the very least he is honoured.

And with that we were gone. Lyle now took the lead as we kicked our beasts into a heavy gallop. Already we could see the wilderness stretch out beyond the last few houses. We were lucky that Onis was not a walled town, but that was as far as our luck lasted. For despite Elijah’s noble efforts to draw troops away, others filled the gap and bullets soon sprayed through the air. I felt one whistle past my head before watching Rheese’s horse stumble. The Lord of Onis tried with all his might to pull the beast back up at a gallop, but his efforts were soon stopped by a brutal bullet which caught his throat. I passed him as the last hopeful to flee, and knew that the man who shared my secret was no more. A sense of anger filled me and I screamed in rage, kicking my horse harder and flying past the last barrier, barging two soldiers aside.

By now the town was behind me and Lyle and Amelia were far ahead. For a moment I allowed myself to believe we would really escape. But then the bullets struck. I looked dumbfounded and could do little but keep my horse going. She was puffing and sweating hard but the adrenalin kept both of us going until the town was no more.

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It was not until later, when my poor mare was slowing, that I realised she had been shot too. I looked and turned to see blood flowing from her rump and slowed to a trot. My own bullet, lodged in my leg, was quite forgotten. Though the pain was not.

It was likely two miles before I came to a stop, the mare breathing sharply, feeling the pain. With a great effort I dismounted, slipping on the treacherous mud. My foot was bleeding and soiled but I ignored the throbbing and stroked my beast as she struggled to the floor. She thrashed and kicked, and I knew now she had galloped on despite it all. She had done it to save me and I cried for I had no means in which to end her sufferings and thus save her distress. In the end I slouched on the grass, letting the rain crash down on me. Knowing I should run, but unable to move.

It did not surprise me then when I saw a man, a dark-skin, creep from the gloom. At first I thought he might be an Armintian soldier, but soon realised he was one of Elijah’s shepherds.

He took one look at the horse and quickly stabbed his knife through the eye. Then without a word he looked at me and knelt, proffering a white bandage and cleaning my wound. I was too weak to protest and so succumbed to his treatment as more shepherds emerged from the gloom. ‘Chief Elijah said there might be some,’ one then said, walking towards me, his rifle resting on his shoulder. ‘Though I could not believe it. I am Shepherd Malachi.’

‘The others!’ I managed, feeling the stinging sensation of total physical depravity. The man smiled a toothless grin. ‘They realise their haste and look for you. They argue.’

‘Aye I bet,’ I grunted, flinching as the bandage was wrapped tight.

‘Can you walk?’ he asked, eyeing me curiously, as if my many deformities were invisible.

The question quite made me chortle, which sent yet more pain shuddering through my body.

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But I was determined to answer. ‘Better still I can run!’ I grunted mordantly. Malachi laughed with me. ‘You are funny man,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I ask ’cos the Flock will not be able to resist town for long. We are only here to rescue Chief.’

‘I think your Chief can look after himself!’ I groaned. Malachi shrugged. ‘He too loyal to them Rangers. Just ’cos we share the same fields we not the same people,’ he added, turning to see a scout appear, who latently nodded towards the north. Malachi grinned again and said something I did not understand to my physician. ‘They come soon,’ and with that disappeared into the night with his Flock.

Sure enough within minutes I saw Lyle and then Amelia. The former jumped off his horse at the trot and quickly kneeled to my aid. ‘Are you well? I thought I saw figures.’ He looked down and saw my fresh bandage. My face was lifted with a smile. ‘Just the sheep passing through,’ I said. By now Amelia had taken my hand, I thought she might be crying, but then it was raining awfully hard. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. I did not have the energy to reply.

Instead I glanced to her lover and knew Lyle was scouting the land, despite the rain and the dark gloom. ‘Can you travel?’

I nodded my head.

‘Then you shall ride with me. We will head north then take a ferry south.’

‘But isn’t that towards the Legosians?’ Amelia asked.

‘Aye,’ Lyle confirmed, ‘but they aren’t looking for us.’

I have no idea how we ended up on the river which fed south towards the sea, nor how long it took us. I suspect a few days, but I was more insentient than cognisant and soon contracted a fever. I could just remember one time when the rain ceased, but when that was I

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do not know. For it soon returned. But the rain did not deter the river men and nor did trade abate between the primitives. We were safe among them, though how Lyle found them and secured a safe passage will forever remain a mystery. For even in Legosia they are famed for being notoriously violent creatures.

I remember just one thing clearly on our journey downstream; Amelia never left my side.

She talked to me, often telling me things I was sure no one else knew. Though what they were I will never know, for in my delirium I made no sense of words or time.

On the last day of our journey my fever turned and at some point we left the river and headed toward the hills. Lyle bartered a small cob from the money he had made from the horses. The bargain was unfair but it meant I would not need to walk. In a fitful display of futility I offered the horse to Amelia, who politely declined. But in the end it was no good. The pain was simply too much. We had not travelled more than a few hours when I fell. Amelia was first to my rescue and sobbed into my chest, more out of hopelessness than any concern for me. Lyle stood over us, hesitant and watchful. ‘Lyle says we must carry on,’ she said, stroking my hand. I shook my head. I wanted to ask where we were marching to, but the effort was too much. Instead I looked away, unable to hold her gaze. She pressed her hands tight, her touch as cold as ice, but I had made up my mind. I could travel no longer. ‘Falore,’ I then said. Lyle looked at me. He understood. Or maybe he had seen the scouts from afar. ‘The hospital in Falore,’ I said with an unyielding effort.

‘No!’ Amelia cried. ‘You’re coming with us!’

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I saw Lyle place a hand on her shoulder. To his credit he seemed genuinely torn. ‘He is right. Falore is but a day’s ride away. We will not be safe for many weeks to come. He will be safe there.’

‘But I cannot leave him!’ Amelia sobbed, the rain doing nothing to hide her evident distress. ‘But it is the only way,’ Lyle said, stepping into her embrace. I watched as they clung to each other and wondered whether Amelia would ever know the whole truth behind the man she loved. I wondered whether she knew he was a Legosian agent too; though whether it would have made any difference I do not know.

I only know that watching them embrace, watching Lyle kiss her, made me certain of my decision. It surprised me then when I saw her produce a yellow handkerchief, the very one I lent to her all those months ago. She had kept it, despite everything. And for that I felt happiness. It was the last time I allowed myself to feel or endure such a fleeting and cruel emotion. For never again would I feel anything but pain.

‘I am sorry,’ I then said as loud as I could, breaking their embrace. Amelia knelt to me and smiled, wiping away her tears. I waited for her to say something, for her to do something.

Another clue to give me hope. But instead she stroked my hair away from my eyes then rested the palm of her hand upon my cheek before standing. Lyle took her arm and nodded. ‘We will make sure they find you, but do not expect to be treated any differently,’ he said, taking his cloak and resting it on me – a futile gesture of compassion.

I smiled. ‘Go, and take the cob.’

‘I will come back for you,’ Amelia whispered emotively before turning away, though I do not think she means it. I watched them go and shivered in the rain. They did not look back,

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though after a while I heard two gunshots fired. That was my signal and all the excuse the scouts needed.

I remembered my training and knew what I had to do. Lyle was right. I would not be so welcomed now. Not after the battle at Onis. They would make me talk. They would make me confess. And I could not bear the thought. Not again.

So I did what needed to be done.

I bit off my tongue.

And threw it away as far as I could, along with my secrets and my life. My mouth bloody and numb.

Then waited for my succour.

I would write more tomorrow sister, but the pain grows and my ink for the day is running dry. But if I do not wake from my fitful slumber then remember I love you. And remember that I am not a bad man. Fare you well.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Amelia’s Diary...

Jack Talkville is an idealistic fool who thinks rather too well of himself, but he promised to do just one thing for me. One thing and then he would leave. He said he did it because of Roark, but he did it anyway. He sent word to Jacob.

That was some months ago, and now I find myself writing in Falore itself, grateful he kept his word. I am no longer the spoilt daughter of a Count. I am a desolate, impoverished vagabond. And yet though I am without title or influence, I consider myself rich. Rich because of the one thing in this solitary room that has given me a joy and love unbreakable. My son.

He is two weeks old. And his name is Richard. Richard ap Lyle ap Ramtk.

To be a mother is a strange circumstance. I can hardly believe it myself, but then I see Richi and remember the pain that brought him into this world. And with that pain births a responsibility so wonderfully inborn, all other allegiances and promises become subordinate to it. The safeguarding of your child. I could not imagine loving someone more.

To admit to conceiving a child out of wedlock is not something that I can easily express. I know society dictates it wrong and for good reason, but fate has given me this gift and I will not let it go. Nor do I consider self-control and constraint merits of my character. I lack them both, contrary to the precepts of etiquette. Nay, I am fraught with passion and longing instead.

Perhaps I knew it was wrong, but I could not stop myself from tiptoeing into the hands of temptation and lust. Call me a harlot and I will call you bigot. A chauvinist who is blind, deaf

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and cold to the siren calls of love. I will not apologise or feel ashamed for my son. Nor can I change the past.

But what of the future?

Little Richi’s birth has gone unnoticed and yet the war still persists, despite the revolt that shakes my father’s lands. Men die and the land is doomed I am sure. But here in Falore I have found a safe haven. For now at least. I could not possibly say what tomorrow brings.

The Legosians do not recognise me. That must count in my favour should it not? They look at me and see a poor woman with a bastard child, not a daughter of a Count harbouring the heir of Fiojn. Such truth should help disguise my woes when I see him at last.

For I have come here for one purpose and one purpose only. So why do I linger?

Fear. Fear of the consequences.

What would I say to him? What could I say to him that I have not already? I have poured out my heart once. I cannot again.

Reading through my diary now, I know I need to reorder my thoughts and retell what was done, much for my own resolve if for nothing else. Of course there are so many things that take precedent now, but since I have some time at last, I will try at least to explain my flight and what occurred afterwards. Indeed, I’m hesitant to even begin to write for fear it will expose the truth in my heart. Utterly absurd I know! But my hand trembles at the treacherous lines that hide at the tip of this pen. Lines that as yet, are mere memories.

I don’t need my diary to remember that fateful night though. The night we escaped. I shall never forget it, nor the time we spent running. It rained so hard I thought I would drown. Indeed I shiver now at how so close to death we came. Of seeing men fall so that I

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might live. But something compelled me that night and it wasn’t love. No. It was more selfish than that. It was the terrifying thought that I might lose them.

The memory is still fresh in my mind. Lyle was determined to take command but his brother had given me specific instructions that led me to Rheese and the horses. To freedom. I was resolved and my fortitude was only penetrated by the sight of Jacob and the pain he was in.

One man died before we reached the horses. He was helping Jacob and in his bravery fell to a bullet I did not see. How we survived I do not know. Maybe we were guided by fate and shielded by luck? Regardless, much of the credit must go to Elijah and his men. Without whom we would never have escaped.

But escape we did and we took flight ahorse with speed and haste guiding us. Lyle took the lead and I followed with a desperation and terror akin to the time I was kidnapped with Annie. I did not look back and refused to believe this was the end despite the fear and anxiety clinging to my mind. Perhaps that was why I did not see Lord Rheese fall? He was a kind man and did not deserve to die. But for fate, it could have been me who found the end of that bullet’s flight.

I mourn for him still.

My horse was floundering to the last when I dared to steal a look behind me. It was then that I realised Lyle and myself were alone. I shouted for him to halt but I think the rain and wind muffled my cries. It was only when he deigned to look behind that he slowed and frowned, noticing I had stopped. ‘Amelia it is not safe to rest! We should carry on until we reach the hills!’ he cried with a desperation I had not seen before.

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‘I can’t leave him!’ I think my honesty shocked him, for he shot me a confused look sharpened with anger and honed by jealousy. Nevertheless, he recovered well and I think genuine sorrow reached the crease of his brow. He pleaded with me, telling me that I must leave Jacob unless I wished to share the same fate. ‘What are you saying?’ I asked, afraid to admit the nagging worry in my mind.

‘He’s dead Amelia! Every moment we stay here worrying only hastens our danger. You can mourn for him when we are safe.’

‘I’m not…’ I stopped short of a shout and realised it was not rain water that clung to my face but tears. The realisation made me angry. ‘He’s not dead!’ I demanded, sobbing. I think of those tears now and wonder whether they were shed from exhaustion or despair. But perhaps a stronger emotion was driving both. It is hard to admit something that should not be voiced. I knew then that we could not go on until we at least searched for him, and told Lyle as much.

He snorted with frustration and lowered his head in an effort to hide his feelings. ‘Does Jacob mean so much to you that you’d risk your life and mine just to find his dead body?’

‘How can you be sure he is dead?’ I shouted.

‘I cannot. But experience tells me it is more than likely. Now answer my question. Does he mean more to you than your life, my life…or.’ He paused. ‘The life of your unborn child?’

I hesitated; shocked to the core that such truth was so evident. How could he know? And how much did he know? These were secrets I had barely confessed to my diary or Annie. They were treasured. They were mine.

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I gazed at him defiantly and sniffed. He made to speak but his face, torn between despair and love, broke into an empty smile. A sad smile – one filled with regrets and fuelled by tiredness. ‘Tell me my suspicions are wrong?’ he challenged.

I could not and shook my head, watching him struggle to form his next few words. I knew what they’d be and no amount of delicacy would deaden the insult. ‘Is…’ he began, then stopped rather forlornly. ‘Is the child mine, or his?’

I eyed him and glared. ‘A gentleman would never ask,’ I snapped and turned my horse to the flutter of movement through the rain. The sight made me gasp in fear. Lyle nudged his gelding forward and stared through the darkness. He had seen it too. ‘Elijah’s men,’ he said confidently, and trotted on toward the movement. I kept apace and watched with fear as we crept back toward the town, hidden by the night and rain. I do not know whether it was my imagination or whether it was real – but I was sure I still heard the faint whisper of gunfire on the breeze. Regardless, Lyle kicked his horse into a trot, fighting the rain and wind, chasing shadows.

I suppose whether they were real or not matters little now, for somehow we came across Jacob lying prostrate, holding a bloody leg next to a dead horse. Fate it seems, wanted us to find him. And I was glad that we did. Lyle had jumped to his side in an instant and glanced at the wound. I think he knew how bad it was, but refused to voice it. ‘Are you well enough to ride? I thought I saw Shepherds.’

‘Only sheep passing through,’ Jacob replied deliriously, grimacing with the pain. He looked up to see me take his hand in mine. I knew I was crying but ignored the tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sniffed, searching for something more meaningful to say. A puzzled look flashed

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through his eyes as Lyle lifted him onto his horse. To this day I don’t know whether it was a deep pain driven by despair or that of a brief pang of hope. Whatever it was, it was gone before it took hold. And neither did I have time to dwell on it, for before I knew it we were ahorse again, making haste to leave Onis and the ghosts of that town far behind.

The rest of that night was cold, wet, and tiring but we headed north towards the river determined to win our freedom. I have never been so anxious in all my life. The thought that from every shadow a soldier could appear to take us back to Onis, near paralysed me with fear.

I do not know how long I could have continued if Lyle had not found the riverfolk. It was past dawn when he came with three men carrying a stretcher. We had stopped in the night to rest the horses and I had slipped into a restless sleep full of nightmares that plagued my waking mind. Lyle must have left us to locate these strange men, but for how long, I could not tell.

To my surprise we were directed to the rushing currents of the river within minutes. Fed by the rains the night before, it frothed with an energy and power rivalled only by that of the sea. We took passage on a ferry and let the current take us south. It was not a happy cruise.

Alas, it was not long before the fever’s grip took hold of Jacob. He was directed to a lone cabin and there was given herbs and a blanket, but the constant drizzle made it impossible to light a fire. And so he suffered. Oh how he suffered. He was cold to the touch and near unconscious and so I did the only thing I could think of. I undressed him, and rubbed him warm, lying with him all night until I felt his body thaw. He awoke the following morning screaming and shouting. I caught words and half sentences but nothing that made clear sense. I dressed him in new clothes Lyle found for me and fed him soup and some bread. I do not think he was of sane mind for the entire time we were on that ferry. He would often call a women’s name that

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I did not know. Caroline, I believe it was. And when he was done he would mutter my name, sometimes with affection and other times with pure hate. Those brief instances scared me more than I know.

And the whole time Lyle let me nurse him. Whenever I asked for something he brought it and whenever I was too tired and fell asleep at Jacob’s side, I know he was there looking after us both. He brought me food, drink and a new warm cloak. He asked after Jacob each day and checked on him every morning. I think he was genuinely concerned for Jacob. Whatever their differences I believe there is some small semblance of friendship hidden in both their hearts.

One particular evening he asked if Jacob needed another blanket and when I shook my head he smiled. ‘You have saved his life.’

‘His leg is still bad.’

‘The riverfolk are no surgeons.’ He sighed pointedly. ‘They have been kind to me in times past and I to them. But we cannot stay here forever.’

I eyed him knowingly. ‘When do we leave?’

‘Tomorrow, if he is well enough,’ he whispered, looking down at Jacob with sincerity. He sat, taking a chair next to mine. ‘And how are you?’

‘Tired.’ I glanced at him and grinned, then shivered with an emotion I did not expect.

Excitement. I took Lyle’s hand and stared into his eyes. The man I had come to know stared back. ‘Thank you.’

‘I have done what any man would do in my shoes.’ He nodded to the bed. ‘What Jacob would do if he could. Keep you safe and… love you.’

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‘Lyle –’ I started, realising both my hands were now in his.

‘Shhh. Don’t speak,’ Lyle interrupted, brushing his finger against my lips. ‘I know you love me even if you can’t admit it. You find me intriguing and infuriating, and though you refuse to voice it, charming.’ My eyes sparkled with pleasure. The warmth of his touch made me feel alive. I knew he was speaking truth and yet I could not voice it, not with Jacob lying asleep by my side. Lyle stared at me tenderly, and delicately moved a strand of my hair behind my ear, making me shiver with delight as he did.

And then I kissed him. Perhaps it was not right to do so but I could not ignore what emotions he ignited in me. I couldn’t help it and the passion was so strong I all but forgot Jacob until I heard him stir. I drew back guilty and quickly, and flushed when I saw him turn in his sleep. Lyle hid his frustration well, but it was not entirely suppressed as he stood and drew breath. ‘You have saved his life Amelia. But death still grips him and if the bullet is not removed he will likely die, or worse.’

‘I know.’

‘And you know we must keep moving.’

I looked at him fiercely. ‘I know.’

‘Then you better say your goodbye.’

‘Have you?’

He looked at Jacob with an intensity I had only seen reserved for myself. ‘In another life we would have been brothers. But I cannot wish dreams to be true. He is the better man. As was Roark.’

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I realised then what he must have learnt in the few days we were on the river and the implication behind his words. So Roark was dead. He had given his life for his brother and for Jacob. I felt a twinge of sadness at the fact, and stood to embrace Lyle. The heat of his body did more to comfort me than him I suspect, but when it was done he stroked my hair and glanced one last time at Jacob. ‘Know this now,’ he said solemnly, pausing for breath and unable to draw his eyes from the bed. The magnetism of his touch made my heart beat all the more.

‘Whatever happens,’ he continued, ‘and whatever befalls us, whether ill or good, I will always be here to look after your child.’

I swallowed, and guided his hand to the swell of my stomach. I knew I was crying but he needed to hear the words and so I spoke them. ‘Our child.’

I do not know whether he believed me, for before he kissed me and left, he stiffened – whether it was from surprise or acceptance who can say? All I know is that he is a man of his word.

I stayed to sit next to Jacob and took his hand to feel the small strength of his grip.

‘Amelia,’ he whispered, and I nearly jumped but for the fact he was still sleeping. Can a woman love two men? I am cruel to even think it – but can she? Whatever I feel for Lyle there is a part of me that feels the same for Jacob. That’s why I am here now is it not?

I stared at Jacob and stroked his brow. It was still clammy but it no longer burned with fever. I listened to his haltering breath and then squeezed his hand all the more. ‘I know I never said this but I’m so glad you rescued those horses. I was to marry Lok, and then I met you.’ I laughed, thinking of those first few memories at home. Of the Jacob I wanted to remember. I let my mind wander through all the possibilities and emotions before it settled on

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a question I knew I needed to ask. ‘Why couldn’t you be honest with me? You have a name and a life I know nothing about.’ I felt anger stir in me and stopped to exhale. ‘I trusted you. I thought I knew you. I thought we…’ I stopped again and wiped away the last of my tears. Was this my confession? Or was this my goodbye? Whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t let the words be unspoken. ‘I know you will never understand. And I know it is stupid but what can I do?

How can I change what I feel?’ Could he hear me I wonder? The thought never occurred to me until now. I suppose I will find out soon. Still I knew I needed to say it. To say the words.

Perhaps it was the only time I was truly honest with him, or with myself.

But I said it anyway and let him sleep…

When that goodbye finally came. When we left him, I remember feeling completely empty and utterly confused. I knew I had to leave him but there was something within screaming for me to stay. Stay and make sure he lived. The tug of my heart nearly broke and I remember the last words I said to him as clear as this very day. ‘I will come back to you.’

Perhaps it was naïve to say those words. Perhaps I should have left and never come back.

But here I am now, waiting to draw upon the courage to do the right thing. For my child, and for everyone. It is time. Tomorrow I will do it.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jack’s Memoirs...

Count Loff, Lord of Fiojn and Onis.

I write this note in haste but I do so because of what you did to us. You were wrong to play god with the lives of men. What you did was unforgivable and yet I am willing to forget in the hope that we can negotiate a truce. For years my anger clouded what was right, and I know it is of no import now, for war is upon us and we must find common cause in Armintia. I hold you and the Emperor personally responsible for everything, despite what happened. But your daughter has shown me that vendettas are for young men with hardened hearts. I cannot vouchsafe my brother or Rufus, for they are passionate people, and in their passion they were compelled to seek other masters. My brother would be ever loyal but you forced his hand. Yet even now he talks as an Armintian. And because of this I am convinced that he, as well as I, would still fight for Armintia. A Ranger never loses his way.

Yours in Hope Lyle Ramtk

What treasonable words! What nonsensical slander! But then what does one expect from a man who deserted his own brother! People say it is an honest letter, a patriotic letter, but I have underlined the two words that make it treacherous and slanderous. And remember that

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he was once questioning Armintia’s role in the war! Hardly the mind of a true patriot. Hold to this truth though, if a man must hold to something; Roark may have been in the pay of the Legosians, but he never forgot his own men. Lyle Ramtk is the true turncoat‌

Extracts from Turncoat...

The curious fate of the shepherds is one story worth recounting. Though it is a brief tale, it is a courageous one. For hundreds flocked to the town on that night, and died so that others might live. It is a complete mystery as to how Elijah survived, for I have been told that he alone chanced death more times than any mortal man that dark night. But he did so with a defiance.

He sacrificed his life and chance saw to it that he would live. There is a lesson there for those inclined to cowardly thoughts.

And those that stayed with their champion were no such men.

I stayed, when I could have left. But then I knew I would not hang. So why Rufus, Morcam and Eli did not chance the night, I do not know. For surely they among any other had the fortitude, skill and training to survive? There is of course one word that provides the reader with an appropriate answer; loyalty. Alas I could only deduce that the five other prisoners were evidently men who shared the same fate as I. That meant there were ten of us.

And not one would sleep again that night.

We were all of a nerve, worried about our comrades and our friends. What else could we do? They were our family, and we all felt the sense of loss and mourning. And it did not take long for us to fear the worst. It was minutes rather than hours before we heard the bells start to ring, and soon after we heard footsteps and shouting. Orders were barked and flamed

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torches flickered in the night as a serjeant followed a captain into our lair. He eyed us with concern and then shock. It did not take an intelligent sort to conclude the simple arithmetic.

We all thought then that we would be questioned, beaten even. But the captain gave us one last look, told the serjeant to guard the door and then left in haste. That was as it was until dawn.

The prison was particularly dark when night came. There seemed to be no light at all but we last few made the most of our final hours together. Chess was played in the dark, to the merriment of Rufus, who swept all who played aside. But there was always a nagging feeling amongst the captives. And it was this; why had Roark sacrificed himself for a mere stranger? A man we hardly knew? A traitor and a spy? Our champion hadn’t talked since the excitement and had taken to abandoning himself in the darkest of corners. But in the end I felt it my duty to press on him the consequences of his decision. ‘Why?’ I asked quietly, looking at him with an apprehension that did nothing to hide my tremendous respect.

Roark played no games with me, but nor did he look me in the eye. ‘No man is perfect, Talkville,’ he grunted. ‘There are some things I have done for which I must atone.’ He paused, stroked his hand through his long unkempt hair, then sighed heavily. It was a forlorn action, but a fitting one. ‘Every man must face judgement Jack. But not every man gets to choose when. I’ve killed in the name of pride. I’ve killed in the name of justice. And I’ve killed out of revenge. I’ve killed so many men I am tired.’

‘But why choose death?’

‘Did I have any choice? I’m tired of running Jack. I’m tired of worrying about whether I will wake up; knowing friends around me could die. Men who trust me.’

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‘You always saw us right Roark,’ Eli interjected, the prisoners now silent, listening to our champion’s final elucidation. Roark shook his head. ‘Working for the Legosians ain’t my idea of seeing you right Eli. I deceived you. In my bitterness and anger we all deceived you.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ I snapped, unable to drink these words of treachery in. Roark was guilty yes. But blameworthy for the fate of his comrades? Most certainly not.

‘You might say that Jack, but I sent you and Rufus to kill that bastard Lok because I received orders from my handler to eliminate a rogue agent. I myself killed that old fool General de Goúth for fear that his tongue might wag. And I did it in cold blood without a second’s thought. And in doing so I put all of our lives in jeopardy. Eamor would never let us leave after that. And who do you think killed the Count?’ he added, pausing to let the question sink in. I had always assumed Eamor had done so, and then my suspicions had lent towards Jacob once he had been exposed as a spy. But Roark? Such a feat was impossible.

Roark could see our disbelief, for we were shocked. Though such shock must not be confused with our primal feeling; for there was not one jot of disapproval amongst the men – after all our principle quarrel was with the Count. His death was inconsequential. Our surprise though, was as transparent as glass. ‘You did this also on your handler’s orders?’

‘No I did this out of revenge. Or should I say Rufus did, for it was he who wielded the knife, with a little help from a friend.’

‘Gladly did I sink the blade and kill the Count, and thus bring his actions to account,’ Rufus versed, taking no pleasure in revealing so. Roark sniffed. ‘Lyle of course, thought we had gone too far. But he was intoxicated by love, we were intoxicated by revenge. He told me he had written a letter of truce to Loff. He had had enough, but it seems I was too late to realise

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he was right.’ He paused briefly then smiled darkly. ‘It is funny that it was the Lady Amelia who convinced me I had to finish what we had started. When I saw her I knew that there are grander things at work in this world than one person, or two people, thirsting for revenge. The Count read the letter, for Rufus saw and took it when our vengeance had finally been quenched. If only a truce was possible. If only we had fought the Legosians sooner!’

‘You have it still?’ I asked the poet. He shook his head. ‘Our friend the groom keeps it safe.’ And that he did, until it came into my possession a few years hence. You, the reader, have read the content, and can judge for yourself. Did Lyle write it to vindicate himself and seek redemption, or did he search for a way out and thus pass the blame onto another? In my mind it was personal egotism rather than a belief of communal necessity that hastened his course. Writers have heralded his altruism and his patriotism, but a more selfish man I have yet to meet. He did not care that eighteen of his comrades died and many more besides so that he might live. Such a sacrifice should never be forgotten or belittled.

‘You did no wrong that I cannot forgive,’ I then said after a great deal of thought. But Roark’s mind was set. ‘No man should live with guilt and a vengeful heart,’ he grunted and with that said not a word more, until the final hour. Until the final reckoning.

When the sacrifice was complete. A sacrifice of love, loyalty and courage.

A sacrifice forgotten and scorned.

*

*

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*

Jack’s Memoirs...

My darkest day? Most certainly the hour when I saw my friends die. But it was also a great day. For on that cold grey morning the crowd witnessed brave men dying for what they believed. They were moved by what they saw. There were no jeers or mocking. Just weeping and sorrow.

Extracts from Turncoat...

It chilled me to the very bones when I was led out, my hair cut, my body chained. Roark led the condemned, with his head held high. This would be his final requiem. Eli, Morcam and Rufus followed, strung along to the gallows. Eighteen wooden instruments of death. The sight made my stomach churn. Why eighteen when there were but four prisoners?

The question was soon revealed, for Eamor’s cruel mind worked in yet more devious ways. Sixteen men had fled the gaol that night, just hours ago, when the storms raged and darkness reigned. Only two achieved their freedom. And fate deemed it to be the two most undeserving. The two traitors; Lyle Ramtk and Richard de Goúth. They escaped their judgement, but fourteen were not so fortunate and paid the price for their iniquity. It has since become famous, but the Fate of the Fourteen was so cruel, so malevolently conceived, it turned the mood of the crowd. For no sane person could cheer such a spectacle. It was only fitting then that come the rebellion Eamor was killed at the hands of a priest, or so the gossips say.

But then divine judgement will seek out the wicked. Yet such a thought was no comfort then.

For I watched as Eamor stood and announced his judgement, the judgement of Armintia and the Empire. I still remember his words. ‘People of Onis and our beloved Empire,’ he said,

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with the smirk of a man who had drunk the cup of victory – a bitter taste for those who could attest to the man’s vindictiveness. ‘We stand here triumphant! We stand here to see justice performed! For here stand eighteen traitors! Eighteen outlaws! They conspired to kill the Count, to aid Legosia in this war! And for that they will hang and their corpses shall remain in the square so that you good citizens understand the fate of traitors!’

There should have been great cheers, loud exclamations of acclamation. But instead there was a scattered applause and little approval. They saw that fourteen of the men were already dead. Fathers and sons to some of the townsfolk within the crowd. And they understood Eamor’s barbarity. I watched it happen. Fourteen corpses were strung up naked and beaten, the noose tight ready to drop. And when the order was given there was a large cry amongst a belated cheer. They knew there would be no funeral, no burial. Just dangling corpses, and rotting flesh. Food for crows.

And Eamor was ready to offer the same fate to the four who stood and waited, watching what would become of them. ‘Strip the prisoners!’ Eamor shouted. ‘The poet first!’

‘Rufus of Salisé,’ the announcer then read, waiting for the steady rumble of the crowd to calm. I could already sense the atmosphere, a mood Eamor quite misjudged. He was no Count and nor was he a man born of Fiojn or Onis. He did not understand the traditions. ‘You are sentenced to hang for high treason against the empire, conspiring with the enemy, murder, rape, and espionage. An outlaw you are and as an outlaw you shall hang. What last words do you wish to exclaim before you drop?’

A pregnant pause was followed by an expectant hush. Rufus was famed throughout the region for his verse, and for his past service to the empire. ‘No words?’

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‘Get on with it!’ Eamor shouted.

‘Let him speak!’ a voice barked from the crowd.

‘Speak!’ another chanted. ‘Speak!’

I saw Eamor’s face flicker with annoyance. But even he was no fool. He bowed to the crowd’s wishes and waved his hand theatrically. ‘The people have spoken. Let the poet have his say!’

The executioner, who was halfway to securing the noose round Rufus’s neck, paused, then lifted the rope free. Rufus hesitated and then stepped forth to deliver his final elegy. One that moved the heart of a nation. Many have since tried to remember his words and recreate his personal requiem and have failed. I shall endeavour to capture the fever using my own hand, relying on my own frail memory.

And so Rufus spoke and though there was no rhyme, there was a poetry in his words. A power that stirred hearts. ‘My people! My country! My life! Hear me and remember my cry!

What do we fight for? What do we live for? For love? For money? No! We fight for Armintia! I was one of you. I bled for you! For Armintia! My friends died for you! We sang the songs of death and danced the lines of fate! For Armintia! We killed the enemy and drank his blood!

For Armintia! But then Armintia spat us out! We who had sacrificed our lives! Do not judge us for that! Do not condemn a man for seeking vengeance! For men betrayed! For men hunted because they were sent to die but rose to live! Armintia killed us! The Empire betrayed us! And yet when the Legosians came we still fought. We still died. We still bled for Armintia! Life’s meaning is not in what we do but in what we believe! Remember my heart is Armintian! I bleed Armintian and I shall die an Armintian!’

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I must confess I could not control my tears. It was the first time I had heard him utter more than a few words out of verse and they pierced my very heart. They touched my soul and the souls of every man and woman in Onis. The crowd cheered, and chants of ‘Armintia’ could be heard a mile and more around. And yet the noose was placed around the poet’s neck and as the cheering rose so Rufus dropped and danced the jig of death. And when Rufus struggled and the noose went tight the cheering turned to riotous jeers. The common man wished not to see their hero die. But there was naught to be done!

Instead soldiers came and eventually the crowd were hushed and threatened into silence.

Eamor barked at the court herald and Eli was brought forth. I watched as men and women were dragged away; violence at the heart of the empire once again. The crowd had turned. But it was not enough. The announcement was given and the same sentence passed. Eli dropped and his neck broke. He did not even get the chance to say his last.

Shouts of protestations and anger soon erupted, drowning out the herald’s third chilling sentence call. Denunciators were pleading for clemency. Shouting acts of revenge! And when Alexander Morcam stepped under the noose’s ring there were loud cries begging for the doctor to be pardoned. For his life to be spared. Eamor stood up to quell the crowd, but it was Morcam himself who compelled the people to listen.

And when they saw he was allowed to have his say they did. But they were quite unprepared for what he said. He did not smile, but his eyes were sparkling with the tears of pride. ‘You good people thank you. But why spare me when I have watched my friends die?

What makes me deserve to be free?’

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‘You’re not a murderer!’ someone shouted and the crowd began to stir once again.

Morcam calmed them with an extension of his hands. ‘But you must realise this. I could not live after watching my friends die. And nor would the empire allow it. I would rather die with my friends then live alone. I chose to live with these men and so it is I choose to die with them!’

I am sure he would have said more but his words were stirring the crowd towards treacherous deeds, and in any case the mob was not yet ripe for revolution.

It is hard to describe the feeling of hopelessness. But when one watches his friends drop from the docks and hears their necks snap, he has to resist the urge to vomit. The dark bile of despair lodges in the throat. The throbbing ache of pain sticks in the stomach. There is nothing one can do but mourn the death of martyrs and pay tribute to their lives.

Rufus was a man like none other. His qualities were so varied and so unparalleled that there was not one man amongst us who thought ill of him. He could spin a rhyme ad hoc then kill a man without so much as a flinch. It was not that he was thoughtless, rather that his mind was quicker than the wind and sharper than steel.

There was not a better shot nor a man so loyal as Eli. He may have had a tongue as black as sin but his enduring qualities were a dedication and devotion to his friends. He was a poacher by trade and the story goes he joined with Roark after our champion rescued him from a thief’s fate. They say his mother still lives.

Alexander Morcam was a man who valued the life of others more than his own. He was willing to die for that belief. He may not have been a man of war but his healing hands kept me alive more than I care to think. He was learned beyond compare. I miss him still.

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I miss them all.

And so to our final man. Our leader. Our Champion.

Roark ap Ramtk.

By now the crowd were silent, accepting the fate of the fallen and bowing their heads in grief. Roark was pressed forward with deliberate haste. Eamor was twitchy and the executioner anxious. The dark clouds above voiced their anger and sang their discord with the rumble of thunder and the falling of rain. Roark’s dark hair was soon drenched, his naked body betraying the scars of battle. Victory and defeat. More than any other man he had bled for Armintia. And he was paying with his life.

In my despair I glanced hopelessly at Eamor and wondered if he expected Roark’s brother, Lyle, to break forth and attempt a daring rescue. But he did not know Lyle like I do.

The man is utterly incapable of love. He abandoned his men to the dungeons and thus abandoned his brother to die.

It had been Roark who had accepted me in the gang. Who believed my tale when others did not. He had helped me, trusted me, gave me a purpose once again. It was Roark who then promoted me to one of his lieutenants, despite my inexperience and short stay. I was his confidant and his friend, so when I say my heart broke at the sight of his death I do not use those words lightly. He was a man who could have changed nations, moved mountains; such was his appeal to others. Every day I mourn. Every day I speak his name, so that the world will never forget.

The court herald read the sentence. ‘Roark of Onis, son of Ramtk Mason you are hereby charged with high treason, murder, rape, conspiracy to kill, and espionage, and as such you

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shall hang until dead! You are an outlaw and will therefore die as one. If you so wish, you may say your last!’

It is funny how one man can quiet a whole town. Can tame a vociferous crowd. But when the herald finished his reading we all but gasped, waiting to hear from the man this town saw as a hero, who had protected him, shielded him. Risked their lives so that he might live on. And now it came to this. He would die and they would watch. And with it his death would trigger an uprising that threatened the whole land!

The herald, nervous and not entirely stupid, coughed and stepped forward. ‘You may say your last!’ he repeated, squeaking as the crowd waited on with baited breath.

Roark stood with a face unreadable. The noose was placed around his neck. One word and the town was his. I knew it. The townsfolk knew it. Eamor knew it.

The executioner shook his head, whispered into Roark’s ear and walked towards his station. There was a pause and then a faint of almost unbearable silence. Our champion looked towards Eamor and spat. ‘A Ranger never loses his way!’ he then shouted and with that dropped to his death.

The crowd groaned. The crowd wept The crowd turned.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Amelia’s Diary…

Today I kept my promise. Today I saw Jacob. It is done at last, for what good it did. And what do I feel now, after it all? Regret, relief, sorrow, anger, sadness, and many more emotions that the pen cannot describe…

I walked the beleaguered city and the filthy streets, following a guide who had robbed me of more than I could afford. My little babe was crying in my arms, wrapped up warm from the chill. The sea breeze swam in from the south and the stench of the river grew ever closer.

‘Not far now mistress,’ the guide said, leading me down a road churned with mud. He led me through an archway and pointed to a large white building, cracked and with a great many windows. ‘Used to be a factory before the war. An hospital for the dying now.’

I thanked him and paid my debt, then moved gingerly towards the hospital with a look of uncertainty. The building looked old and haggard. The white was more grey, and washed with broken lime. Most of the windows had been bordered up and the main double door was shut locked and occupied by two grouchy privates. ‘Not going in miss. We don’t have visitors.’

‘But –’ ‘But nothing,’ the elder interrupted. ‘You ain’t getting in here unless you show me some coin.’ He eyed me. ‘Or a little something else.’

His partner sniggered then stood straight as the door opened and a priest stepped out into the light. He eyed me suspiciously, as if taken by surprise, then snapped angrily at the two

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guards. ‘Private Stolks you let this woman in if she wishes. I’ll be damned if you leech off a lady!’

‘A lady! Well then! Why didn’t you say so miss? Come through!’

‘No touching!’ the priest barked leading me through himself. On entering I witnessed something I did not quite expect. A large room, larger then any hall or ballroom, with a high rounded ceiling in ill repair. And it was host to hundreds of beds. So many my eyes could scarce believe it. The priest allowed me to take in the sorry spectacle then beckoned me to a nurse sitting at a table. ‘Nurse Melina we have a visitor.’ The nurse looked me up and down and smiled. ‘Does the patient have a name my dear?’ she asked affectionately, like a mother would treat a child. I blinked. ‘Jacob Hilmai.’

‘Hilmai, Hilmai,’ Melina muttered, checking down her list. ‘Got a Peter Hilmai but no Jacob. Sorry my dear, he may be at the Gerodian Hospital across the bank or passed away. My condolences.’

I shook my head. ‘I knew him as Jacob,’ I said urgently, my child stirring, he would soon need to feed. ‘But I believe his real name was Richard.’

‘The babe his child?’ Melina asked.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ I snapped, eyeing the priest for help.

‘Here, let me hold the babe,’ he said, taking my child and rocking him in his arms. ‘Got two boys myself,’ he added with a smile, earning a frown from the nurse. She looked down at the list. ‘Got lots of Richards. You have a family name?’

‘I…I don’t know it.’

‘Try officers Melina,’ the priest said, grinning stupidly at my little Richi.

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‘Okay, okay. Oh here we are. Got one…two. Oh no Lieutenant de Flore died last week,’ she said, shaking her head sadly. ‘That leaves Captain de Goúth.’

‘Ah yes him,’ the priest said, handing Richi back. ‘I shall wait for you my lady, if you need a shoulder to cry on. For I am afraid the news is not good.’

Melina stood and beckoned for me to follow. We walked past many men, dying or recovering, rotting and sleeping. There were so many patients. So many men who would never see the sun again.

It did not take long before we happened upon the patient, Captain de Goúth. He was lying deathly pale with a face disfigured. I stopped and looked, then let out a cry of alarm, followed by a piercing of tears. ‘That’s him then I take it,’ the nurse said. ‘Shame, he was alive two nights past. Maybe dickens there can tell you more, hardly left his side all these months.’

Melina left and I glanced over the bed to see a man with a beard as thick as fur dozing on a chair. On walking closer I noticed this man had but one foot; it was only then when I recognised him. ‘Seamus?’ I asked tentatively. The man squeezed one eye open and peered at me suspiciously before recognition dawned. ‘Amelia?’ he croaked, rising to stand, cursing as he fiddled with his clutches. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, hobbling round and giving me a great smuggling hug. He then looked down at the corpse and saw my grief. ‘Silly question I suppose. You came at last. He didn’t think you would,’ he grunted, kneeling down to produce a slate board and some chalk. He handed it to me and rested on the bed. ‘Our last conversation was about you. Though in the end most were. I’m sure he would have waited on if he could.’ I looked at the board and read one line before placing it on the bed. They were but two words:

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Remember Me. The sorrow, fresh and raw was hard enough. I could not take the guilt too.

‘Why was he writing on a board?’

‘No tongue,’ Seamus grunted, rubbing his nose like a feral child. ‘Bit it off before he got here. Didn’t want people to ask questions. Worked too.’ He shook his head and sighed heavily, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the old Seamus. ‘I’m sorry Amelia. He died during the night. There was nothing anyone could do.’

‘What did he die of?’

‘The rot. Took his leg, and kept on coming,’ he replied plainly, gripping his crutches and nodding. ‘I’ll give you a minute alone. Father Teale said he had a book I’d like.’

What I said to Jacob is between me and him, but I cried. I cried because I knew it was too late. It is too late! The words are hollow in my diary. But they are nonetheless true. I was too late to say goodbye, to say everything I wanted to say to him and more. Oh how cruel fate is – if only I had not waited. If only I had…No I cannot change what is done.

And so I cried. I shed silent tears mostly, tears of regret and sorrow. Tears that wished to change the past. I wrote in this diary months ago, disapproving of Jacob, but now I can write nothing. I had thought he would be alive, I had thought everything would work out for the best. But it seems dreams have no place in this world.

I remember the first time we talked, when he comforted me after I had quarrelled with Lok. He had been a gentleman then, and he will forever be a gentleman in my heart. That night he gave me a yellow handkerchief to hide my tears and when I saw his pale face, so scarred, so distant, I took the same token and placed it next to his pillow. ‘I am sorry,’ were the last words I said to him. Then Richi started howling and I knew I had to leave.

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I wished for nothing else but to escape this horrible place, but as I made for the door, I saw that Seamus was hobbling my way to cut me off. He had a book under his arm and made slow progress between the beds. ‘You were leaving so soon?’ he asked hopefully. I felt my eyes fill with tears that brought back memories, memories when we were children. Annie, Henry, Seamus and myself. We were so happy then. We were so young. ‘I am afraid I must. I hope to visit Annie and then find a place far away from here.’

‘Annie?’ he repeated, his eyes lighting up for the first time. He looked away shyly. ‘Is she well?’ he asked, hopping slightly in order to scratch at his beard.

‘She is a grieving widow.’

‘Widow?’

‘Lord Rheese died some months ago.’ I hesitated. ‘She still loves you.’

He looked away angrily. ‘I’m a cripple and half mad with grief. She would not love who I have become,’ he growled.

‘Still you must hope.’

‘I have my book,’ Seamus quipped in soundless disagreement, hiding behind a mask of madness. ‘My book will see me right,’ he added shaking his head, and turning to leave before hesitating. ‘Say I am sorry and that when the war has finished we shall see,’ he grunted, leaving me to depart from the hospital alone.

On walking out of the great tomb into mild daylight I spotted the priest smoking a pipe.

In my haste and anger part of me wished to ignore him and leave, never to enter this city again. But something about the man quite made me change my mind. And I am glad I did. For at least there is some small cheer in this sorry tale that is my life.

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‘Do priests smoke?’ I asked, walking towards him, rocking Richi back to sleep.

‘This one does.’ He eyed me suspiciously. ‘So Richard’s dead.’

‘Yes,’ I replied, hardly knowing what to say. Thankfully the priest was quite prepared to take up the task. ‘Shame. He was a good man. Loved you, you know. Damned fool.’

I frowned; this was no ordinary priest. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Father Teale,’ the man replied defensively. He gazed at me with interest and something within his great dark eyes seemed distantly familiar. Then I knew what it was. And the realisation quite shocked me. ‘Amos?’

‘Bugger.’

‘It is you!’ I cried, almost laughing. ‘I thought you were dead. We all did!’

‘Takes more than guns to kill old Amos,’ the man grunted, his disguise so well placed that he looked twenty years older and an inch or two shorter. Even now he kept his back bent. ‘But we found your blood!’ I gasped innocently.

Amos shrugged indifferently, as if to say that such a fact mattered little. ‘Sorry to hear about Roark and Rufus,’ he said as a way of reply, then peered at me critically. ‘But I see you’ve been busy. Who’s the father?’

I hesitated, but knew he would see through my lies. ‘He’s called Richard Lyle.’

‘How quaint, yet who am I to judge?’ he said, lowering his voice as an officer walked close by. He shook his head. ‘Do you have accommodation? Food?’ he asked earnestly. I realised then that despite his aloof and contrary character Amos actually cared about me. At the very least, he wished to see me safe.

I nodded.

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‘Good, then I shall seek you out and we shall talk some more. I would dearly love to know how Lyle is doing. Never picked him as the father type. Stay safe Amelia and stay well,’ and with that he left.

I do not know what to say in response. But such a revelation gives me hope. Hope that though I find my life empty, my child may have a future. I must confess one more memory, though I did not place it at the time. Amos’s disguise as the old priest; a priest I recall seeing before. It was at a ball. He had been invited by Lord Rheese and I had questioned him regarding his place of practice. The fact I did not recognise Amos then would have shocked me once; now it brings a quiet smile to my face.

The resourceful little man found me this very night and gave me money and more clothes. He said it was not safe to be in the city, that the Armintians are looking to storm Falore. Let them storm it for I am beyond caring anymore!

He also told me that he had watched over Jacob in his last few months and had been trusted with a letter, and a lengthy one at that, addressed to a Miss Caroline de Goúth. He said Jacob had written it in the hope that people would understand why he turned his back on Legosia. But I do not need to read it to understand why. For I know. And perhaps Amos is right and I should leave Falore. Perhaps I should go to seek Annie now.

But for some reason I cannot.

And so I must wait. Wait for Lyle.

And hope that he can forgive me. Then we shall go where nobody can find us. To a place beyond the war.

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What compels me to write such truth? Such hope? Am I a woman, chained to the whims of man? Lyle has business outside the city. Old business. Perhaps he has forgotten me? No that is cruel. I know he loves me. He will do what is right by me, though they won’t like it.

Part of me wishes there were another way, for I know my father would disapprove. But he is dead and his grandson cannot be called a bastard. When the war finishes he will claim what I left behind and inherit the blood of his grandfather. In that I vow.

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EPILOGUE

Amelia’s Diary...

Today I felt a strange feeling. A melancholy mood that was likely brought on by the letter I have received from Amos. On reading it I felt compelled to seek out thoughts that are now closed memories. It was as if the distant tide led me to this place of comfort, boxed away in an abandoned and forsaken cupboard. I opened the cabinet door, and shivered as it creaked ajar, wondering whether some unknown presence was protesting against this solemn trespass. But the letter had brought me here. To the place of my past.

My old diaries. Dressed in a forgotten layer of dust. The last testimony of my old life.

Untouched for four years. Four happy years. And four sad years. Amos was kind to send them.

Much since then has changed. Yet the war still runs its course. So many have died that nobody wishes to admit defeat. I can hardly remember what peace feels like. I can hardly recall the time before the war.

One might ask why I broke my precious habit and stopped writing. Perhaps I grew bored, or likely too busy. But I believe it has something to do with the memories and the pain I feel.

Whatever the reasons, now has come the time to finish this diary. My tale.

They tell me that I am still the heiress to my father’s lands, and that my little Richard has a claim on the title. I see that is what I hoped for in my last entry. He would be the second Count of Fiojn, taking the lands that were given to my father from the late Emperor. But since the revolt in Onis, the lands of Fiojn have declared their independence. I am told the shepherds rule there now and fight the Legosians with more steel than any soldier loyal to the

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Emperor. Some whisper it to be a revolution, and that awful man Jack Talkville says it is so.

Though he saw the crowd rise up, he was swept away with the last of the soldiers and spent some time in the dungeons of Elamea. How he earned his freedom I do not know. How he escaped the hangman’s noose is also a mystery to me. Lyle thinks he must have struck a deal with the Imperial Crown; no doubt he feeds information to the empire in order to maintain his freedom. Though maybe I am too unkind, for Amos tells me that he is stirring up trouble in other towns, though I am told very few have followed the example of Onis and Fiojn. Perhaps now the Emperor is dead there will be real change.

Likely the funeral was a grand affair, despite what war has brought to this country. In my old life I would have been there, mourning the loss of a man who made my father Count. The thought of my father makes me feel an uncertain sorrow. He was murdered, and to this day, I am not sure who killed him. I recall not writing anything of that day in my diary. Indeed, I tried to suppress the grief I was feeling. The consequent Battle of Onis helped keep my mind off such matters. I remember crying and then resolving to keep a strong determination for the sake of Onis. Some rumours said I killed him, but they are lies, no doubt spread by Eamor, who likely did the foul deed himself. I know one thing though; I should have mourned for him properly. But because I was angry with what he did, I hid my grief and ignored my pain. He was not the man I thought he was.

I write in a small house on the edge of a cliff that looks out to sea. The garden is small, but it keeps me busy. Lyle laughs at my stubbornness. This is not good land to make things grow.

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I find myself peering toward the dark sky, with blanket wrapped to keep me warm, hoping that the candle will flicker bright for a little time yet.

But this is the price I must pay in order to ignore the war.

Some days I see the great mechanical birds in the sky and call for Little Richard to stop peering at them with envy and awe. They are beautiful things, but fearsome beasts; made so that man might reach out with one far-reaching arm in an effort to crush his foe. Lyle tells me to stay indoors when we hear them fly by. Often I think he is bored of this life, though he never will admit it. He is a restless man, and gave up the war for me. In his dreams I imagine he is still racing over the country with Elijah, Amos and Roark.

Lyle seldom speaks of his brother. For him the pain is too great.

In this little rock of seclusion Amos will often send us a letter to keep us informed of events outside of this cocooned life. He does not visit, for he fears it would be too dangerous, though how his letters arrive, I do not know. But that is how things must be.

I am not welcome at court and Lyle is wanted by both the Legosian and Armintian authorities for subterfuge and treachery. I am sure he still has secrets, but I will not begrudge him that. If not for me he would still be trying to fight a war nobody wishes to win. And he is a good father to Richard. I would have died raising my boy alone. He does his duty to me and will often talk to the bump growing in my womb. I laugh and call him foolish, but he insists, talking to ‘Little Elle’ as if the baby were born and grown. I ask him how he knows it’s a girl.

He simply shrugs and looks at me with eyes that speak of love but long for war. He will forever be the soldier. ‘Because our boy wants a sister.’

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‘He does?’ I asked surprised, for I thought my son oblivious of my growing belly.

Although, that is not quite true. Only last week he looked at me with a frown so serious it almost made me worry. With hands on hips he stared then said. ‘Why mamma fat?’ I smiled at his childlike innocence, and avoided answering by lifting him up and smothering him in kisses.

The fact he had decided to discuss matters further with Lyle only betrays a fraction of the inquisitive little boy he has come to be.

Lyle laughed playfully at my odd look, and pulled me closer. ‘I spent a lifetime with brothers and always wished for a little sister. But now I wish for a daughter. Annie would like it I’m sure.’

Annie. Sometimes Amos will pass on a letter from my childhood friend, and occasionally I will write one in response. She is living in a small town south of Elamea. She tells me Seamus writes to her often, but will not visit. Not that he can. He is a prisoner-of-war, though he seems to have more privilege than most. He vows to meet her when all is over. In this time of love and war.

The thought of Seamus cannot be ignored without the thought of another. Amos tells me Seamus visits Jacob’s grave every day. I would like to see it one day. Perhaps. In a different world and in a different life.

But it is of Jacob that has forced me back to this diary. I feel guilty for not remembering him more often. But then I see Lyle carving a horse for Richard or cleaning his rifle, and I remember that life without daily moments become mere memories. I am occupied now.

Happy. That is how I will conclude my diary. Happy. I might not always be, but the future is as

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yet unwritten, and so I will finish this volume by smiling and hoping that my life will always be so.

My heart is cheered though my pen hovers heavy. The letter Amos sent me has led me to this moment. For that is the reason I write now, after so many years of silence. For he writes to tell me of good news. And it is simply this: He found her at last. Jacob’s sister, Caroline. For that I am grateful. Grateful that she knows his story. That she has at least learned of the real truth behind the spy that people know as Richard de Goúth. But also of the man I knew. The man I shall remember as my friend, Jacob Hilmai. The man from my past. The man I loved.

And now I shall truly finish, for Lyle is calling me to bed and I can write no longer.

It is just as well, for the candle will not last.

THE END

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AFTERWORD

For those who are ignorant of our history, the Second Legosian War lasted seven long years. It ended because both nations were crippled. They could no longer sustain the burgeoning war effort. The economic situation had broken both Armintia and Legosia, and so with resentment and necessity the Truce of Valins was signed; a tentative accord that has held firm these three and twenty years, though the Great Deluge is still choking our lands. Even with the reforms, there has been little relief. The war destroyed us both.

The shrewd reader among you will have noticed I call myself a Count, though at the end of my mother’s diary, my lands were held by the shepherds. It was some years after the war that I received my inheritance. In fact, the shepherds gave them back. And because of the grace they bestowed upon me, they are now my truest friends and most loyal supporters. No doubt my father and mother negotiated their release. Elijah, their Chief, is my personal advisor, though he seldom leaves the castle these days.

As for my legitimacy? There have always been rumours that I am a bastard, that I was born out of wedlock and that Lyle Ramtk was not my true father. That I was conceived before my parents married is quite clear – but were they married when I was born? My mother never admits the truth in her diaries and my sisters know less than I. It matters little now, for I am a man grown, with nothing to hide. But whoever my father was, I know my mother truly cared for him until the end of her days. Whether unclear or not, I will leave it to the reader to decide. Gossip and rumour will not harm me.

RICHARD LYLE RAMTK, COUNT AND LORD OF FIOJN 438