He stopped. He looked around at the dense pines, the air dark under their heavy branches. He turned, looking for his tracks to retrace his steps.
Killop swore. His heart raced as it dawned on him that he was lost. He started walking back the way he had come, looking for any kind of landmark, but he had been in such a pre-occupied daze that he hadn’t paid any attention to where he had gone. Each way looked the same, endless rows of thick pines, and a uniform carpet of brown pine needles covering the ground.
An hour went by, and he continued to walk. He reached a long stone ridge, which cut through the forest, and he recalled seeing it on the way in. It seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions. He tried to think about where he had been when he had passed it before, and walked straight into a camp of Rahain scouts.
Six soldiers stared at him, frozen in surprise as Killop entered the little clearing. A fire was smouldering in the centre, and the Rahain were gathered around its warmth.
Killop drew his sword as they reached for their crossbows. He slashed out at one just as she was levelling her bow, cutting through her torso. A crossbow bolt flew past his left, and then a second, and as the others pointed their weapons at him, Killop turned, and fled through the trees. He rolled to the ground as a bolt whistled over his head, then sprinted, keeping low, and dashing from side to side. The shouts behind him dimmed, and he kept running until they faded into the distance.
He collapsed to his knees, panting. He looked up, squinting through the treetops, trying to gauge the time. Uncertain, he wiped his sword on the pine needles, re-sheathed it, and got to his feet. He noticed the land rise to his left, and he climbed up the slope. Ahead, he began to see more daylight, and he came out of the forest into the upper terraces of a vineyard, which stretched away in precise rows down the hillside.
From up there, he could see the whole valley, and recognised in the distance the mountain pass they had ascended a couple of days before. From there, he scanned along the route they had taken until he saw the small black speck where the cottage lay. The forest sprawled all the way round the vineyard, along the hill, and down to the valley floor.
Killop started walking down the hill, keeping to the edge of the forest as he descended. Halfway down the slope, he saw movement in the valley ahead, and paused. As he stared, he caught a glint of metal flashing in the sunlight, and saw a group moving through the abandoned fields below. He started running again, as he realised that the group were moving in the direction of the cottage, which was now out of his sight, somewhere behind the treeline ahead.
He reached the trees and kept going, trying to keep in a straight line. His breath was ragged, and his feet ached. In the distance he heard cries and angry shouting, and he slowed as he came to the edge of the forest. Ahead of him was the farmyard, barns and cottage where the four fugitives had stayed the previous night. The shouting was coming from the other side of the buildings, and so Killop ran in a crouch to the nearest wall, at the rear of the old gaien stables. He drew his sword, still sticky from the confrontation in the woods. He tried to control his breathing, but his legs were wobbly, and his lungs burned. He crept up the side of the stables. When he got to the end he ducked down behind a leaky water butt, as four Rahain soldiers scampered past from the left, their crossbows in their hands.
Without thinking, Killop leapt up and attacked, swinging his sword two-handed, and laying into the soldiers from behind. In a second two were down, slashed across the back, and as the other pair turned, Killop swung out again, taking the arm off one. The other loosed his bow, and a bolt drove through Killop’s leather armour, deep into his right side under his shoulder. He grunted, and drove his sword through the soldier’s chest, killing him. The Rahain he had wounded was trying to crawl away, a trail of blood leading back to his arm. Killop hacked his head off with a downward lunge, then put his left hand up to where the bolt was embedded in his side.
He staggered with the pain, then heard another cry, from a voice he recognised. He crossed the courtyard to the rear of the cottage, leaving the four bodies staining the ground behind him. He edged to the corner, and peered round. Smoke was coming out of the open side window, and several Rahain soldiers lay scattered on the rocky ground, crossbow bolts studding each body. Killop crawled round to the front.
At least a dozen Rahain soldiers were attacking the main door, hacking at it with swords, while holding their shields above their heads to fend off the bolts. Another five lay dead around them. He saw another bolt flash by, and looked up to see Kallie, wreathed in smoke, shooting from the cottage’s upper storey. One of the soldiers threw a lit torch through a ground floor window, smashing the glass, and more flames and smoke belched out.
Killop picked up a fallen shield, and charged. He yelled as he ran, a guttural roar of pain and frustration. He barrelled into the soldiers, knocking over three as he pushed his way through them. He lashed out with his sword, using his longer reach to strike a Rahain in the stomach. He felt a blade cut into his shield, and swung again, blocking a blow from another soldier. Soon he was surrounded. He swerved to avoid a lunge at his back, then barged into a Rahain on his left, knocking him down.
Several soldiers disengaged, and started to reload their crossbows, while the others circled him, their swords out. A bolt whistled by, and one fell.
The front door of the cottage burst open, and Bridget ran out, her shield up. Lacey was right behind her, firing her crossbow. As they crashed into the Rahain, the soldiers broke, and started to run. Bridget cut down two as they tried to get away, and all the while, Kallie’s crossbow sang from the roof, each bolt finding its target. Killop staggered, panting, sweat in his eyes. Blood was seeping from his right side. He looked up. Bridget was attacking a soldier, forcing him back across the yard, while Lacey was finishing off a wounded Rahain by the front of the cottage. Smoke was now pouring from every window, and the door. Kallie was still on the upper floor. As he glanced up, he saw her aim her bow at him.
He froze, dropping his sword. His left hand was holding his wounded side, now drenched in blood. Kallie was looking right at him, her bolt pointed straight at his head.
Bridget turned, having put down the soldier she had been fighting.
‘Where the fuck have you…?’ she started to say, then stopped, as she noticed Kallie.
Kallie pulled the trigger. The bolt flew past Killop’s ear, so close he felt the air from it brush his skin, and there was a grunt behind him.
Killop turned, and saw a final Rahain soldier fall to the ground, a bolt protruding from his chest.
Bridget looked up at Kallie, her expression wary. ‘Get down!’
Kallie nodded, and climbed out onto the tiled roof, as flames billowed from the windows, and the fire inside the cottage roared. The Kell woman jumped down to the ground, and Lacey joined her.
‘There are more soldiers coming,’ Killop grunted. ‘From the south, by the forest.’
‘Out scouting, were you?’ Lacey said. ‘If so, you fucked that up too. We never had any warning they were coming, not until there were right on top of us. And now we’ve lost all our supplies.’
‘Shut up, Lacey,’ Bridget said. ‘He’s back now.’
She turned to him, and glanced at his side with a sharp intake of breath.
‘Looks nasty,’ she said. ‘Can you run with it, for a while? We’ve got to get out of here.’
He nodded, and the four of them turned, and began running up the path to the north, away from the burning cottage. They reached the edge of an old stone wall and followed it down to a stream at the bottom of the valley, where they turned north-east, and began climbing again.
For the entire journey, Killop remained silent, his mind on fire with the constant pain. He stumbled so many times he lost count, his feet like lumps of lead. Bridget urged them onwards through the afternoon, until every step Killop took was torture. He could see her looking back at him occasionally, as if trying to judge how much further he could go.
They reached
a turn in the valley where the ground fell away into steep crevices and dark wooded dells. They started to climb down, but Killop lost his footing on a loose stone, and half-slid, half-fell to the bottom of the narrow gorge.
He lay still in the cool, dark air, a few feet from a small stream. Large trees spread their branches overhead, blocking out most of the light. He heard a thump on the soft ground beside him.
Bridget.
She studied his wound, then positioned herself, putting her left foot under his right armpit.
She shook her head. ‘What the fuck were you doing?’ she whispered, grabbing the crossbow bolt with both hands.
‘Sorry,’ she said, then yanked with all her strength.
‘We can’t stay here,’ Lacey said.
‘We’re not leaving him,’ Bridget replied.
‘But we’re only a few hours from the cottage,’ Lacey went on. ‘This area will be swarming with lizards soon.’
Killop kept his eyes closed as he awoke, lying on the cool ground. His entire right side was a burning sore of agony.
‘We have to go,’ Lacey said again.
‘No,’ Bridget said. ‘If we leave him here, he’ll die. He needs food, and water, and rest. He’ll be moving again in a few days.’
‘We haven’t got a few fucking days!’ Lacey cried. ‘We’ll all be dead by then! Better only one dies, rather than all of us.’
‘Shut up, Lacey,’ said Kallie.
Despite the pain, Killop strained to hear.
Kallie sighed. ‘He’s still one of us. Can we carry him, Bridget?’
‘Aye,’ Bridget said. ‘We could rig up a stretcher. If we head up this valley, and stick to the stream, we should be able to manage few more miles tonight.’
‘Lacey,’ Kallie said, ‘start cutting branches.’
Killop heard an annoyed sigh, and a pair of feet walking away.
‘Thank you, Kallie,’ Bridget said.
‘Just until he’s on his feet, Bridget. Then I’m leaving him, and you can make your choice.’
Chapter 29
Stripped
Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 20th Day, Second Third Spring 505
‘We’re going to need a bigger office,’ Laodoc said, gazing at the organised chaos before him. Young party activists sat around, drinking cups of scalding tea, writing letters, and holding rowdy debates.
‘Bloody students,’ Juarad muttered. ‘I blame you, you know. Filling their heads with all this pacifist nonsense.’
‘But, my dear fellow,’ Laodoc said, smiling at his old Hedger colleague, ‘if you’re serious about joining the Radicals, then you too would have to oppose the war.’
‘That’s different,’ he said. ‘I’m against this stupid war because my businesses are being ruined, not because of any childish dreams about love and harmony.’
‘Yes,’ Laodoc murmured. ‘I remember feeling that way.’
‘So,’ Juarad said, ‘just how many councillors have signed up so far?’
‘None,’ Laodoc replied, ‘but three have given me their personal pledges, and are just waiting for the committee to finalise its membership. If they join the Radicals before that happens, they’ll have no chance of being selected. And there are a few more who might join, if they see others do so first.’
Juarad scowled. ‘I see.’
‘To be honest, old friend,’ Laodoc said, ‘I think my stance on slavery might be putting people off, rather than my opposition to the Rakanese siege. In fact, I’m a little surprised to see you here. Don’t you have thousands of slaves at work, in your mines and on your farms?’
‘I do,’ Juarad said. Several of the young volunteers turned at these words, frowning at the old Hedger. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he growled.
Laodoc waved his activists back to their work.
‘Thing is, Laodoc,’ Juarad muttered, ‘damn slaves are unproductive buggers. They’re cheap to run, but you get sod all work from them unless you’re prepared to beat, starve and torture them, which just adds to the delays and hassle. I reckon I’d double my overheads if I were paying them instead of owning them, but productivity would triple. At least.’
‘Then you don’t care about their welfare?’ a fresh-faced young woman said, looking up from where she had been stuffing leaflets into envelopes.
‘Not a damn bit, girl.’
‘Then you shouldn’t be in the Radicals.’
‘Come now,’ Laodoc said, ‘the economic case against slavery should be one of our principal arguments.’ He paused, as the room quietened. ‘If we only oppose slavery because of its undoubted cruelty, and emphasise solely the rights and suffering of the victims, we risk alienating those who might be persuaded if they realised that our policies would also benefit them financially.’
‘But we don’t want people like that on our side,’ someone said.
‘We want every vote,’ Laodoc said. ‘We’ll need every tactic we can think of if we’re to ever dream about abolishing slavery. That includes targeting those who would assist us only for their own selfish reasons. Think of it as a matter of presentation, if it helps you. By using the economic argument, as just laid out by Councillor Juarad, as well as the moral argument, then we can show that everyone wins from abolishing slavery, not just the slaves.’
Many nodded at these words, although a few looked sceptical.
Laodoc turned to Juarad.
‘If you were to join,’ he said, ‘I would offer you the economics team, to analyse the costs and benefits of a Rahain society free from slavery.’
Juarad snorted, then paused, considering.
‘Maybe,’ he said, chewing over his words, ‘though it’ll all come to nothing. Even if the committee weren’t throwing its weight around like a deranged gaien, the City Council would never ban slavery in a million years, and even if by some miracle they did, then the High Senate would overturn it, as soon as they had stopped laughing.’
‘It’s a start,’ Laodoc said. ‘In truth, I think you’re right. We shall not succeed, at least not in our lifetime. However,’ he went on, holding Juarad’s glance, ‘somebody, somewhere, has to make a start.’
Juarad nodded. ‘Another pointless exercise, then,’ he said. ‘Another hopeless cause.’
A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Excellent,’ Laodoc replied, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Now, about that cup of tea I promised you.’
As he was guiding Juarad towards the small kitchen at the rear of the office, there was a loud banging at the front door. Laodoc turned, an anxious hush descending upon the room.
The doors burst open, and soldiers rushed into the office, fanning out by the front wall.
‘What is the purpose of this intrusion?’ Laodoc shouted, amid confused and angry cries. ‘Who is your commanding officer?’
A middle aged woman stepped forward.
‘I am Colonel Dhaienet,’ she said, holding out a piece of paper. ‘I have here a writ from the Requisition and Mobilisation Committee, declaring the immediate dissolution of the Radical Party, as an instrument of sedition and agitation against the state during a time of conflict. All present here are under arrest.’
‘All?’ Laodoc said.
‘But I am only visiting!’ Juarad cried. ‘I’m not a member of his stupid party! I have nothing to do with any of this!’
The officer glanced at her lieutenant, who shrugged.
‘It’s true,’ Laodoc said, keeping his tone friendly, though his heart was pounding. ‘Councillor Juarad is a member of the Merchant Party, and was only here on a social call. He has no connection whatsoever to the Radical Party.’
The colonel sighed, and nodded.
Juarad got several dirty looks as he jostled his way through the activists to the door. He turned before leaving, and gave an almost imperceptible shrug to Laodoc, then disappeared into the crowd of soldiers gathered outside the party headquarters.
Once he had gone, the colo
nel turned back to Laodoc.
‘Now, Councillor,’ he said, ‘if you would come quietly, we don’t need any fuss.’
Before Laodoc could reply, the crowd of young activists gathered to form a barrier between him and the soldiers.
‘Leave us alone!’ cried one.
‘You’ve got no right coming in here, this is private property!’
‘My uncle will sue you for this!’
The colonel turned again to her lieutenant. ‘See that they’re all arrested,’ she said, ‘but try not to kill any of them. They’re all children of nobles, remember that.’
The colonel walked from the office as more soldiers piled in, each wielding two-foot truncheons and small round shields.
‘Please!’ Laodoc cried over the growing shouts. ‘No violence!’
Ignoring him, both sides eyed each other until, at a word from the lieutenant, the soldiers charged, wading into the packed crowd of students, laying them low with truncheon blows.
As they pushed their way towards him, Laodoc sighed, and shook his head in dismay.
Laodoc and his twenty-four volunteer activists, many of whom were sporting injuries, were held in a cold, dim chamber for several hours, deep within the City Council complex. Medics made the rounds, patching up wounds, cleaning off blood, and splinting the occasional broken bone. Each of the youths had been shackled, with chains connecting their ankles to their wrists.
The mood among them was mixed. Some wore their marks of battle with pride, and were already exaggerating their own part in the fight. Others remained upbeat without the bravado, while a minority seemed to be seriously regretting their decision to help out with the Radical Party.
‘The political establishment will never give up their power without a fight,’ one of the more cocky youngsters was saying, while a nurse held a cold compress to the side of his head. ‘And slavery is all about power. The siege of the Rakanese is all about power. The invasion of the Kellach was all about power. To defeat them, we have to destroy their power!’
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