Peter sat back and once again met Alexander's gaze, refusing to speak. Alexander returned the glass of water to the table.
“So, not a spy, then a traitor, perhaps, yes?” Alexander asked. “Sold out your countrymen for what? Money? Sex? Don't tell me it was love?”
Peter said nothing as Alexander rose to his feet and began to pace around Peter’s chair.
“You'll talk eventually, you know, they always do,” Alexander informed him. “How about we start with your name and move on from there?”
“Peter Anderson, sergeant, Island City Militia,” Peter replied.
Alexander smiled. “So you are a traitor and a member of the City Watch at that,” he said. “I must say, Mr Anderson, that it isn't often that something surprises me. Most of the Watch were desperate to join up, to follow me, and perhaps do some real soldiering for a change. What makes you so different?”
Peter remained silent as Alexander returned to his seat.
“No?” he continued. “Well, tell me about your accomplices then? The gentleman who I spoke to three days ago was certainly of southern origin. How did the two of you meet up? How many more of you are out there? What did you want with the Road Trains?”
“Peter Anderson, ser...” Peter began.
“Oh, spare me!” Alexander yelled, screaming into Peter's face. “We both know that you're not getting out of here alive! Tell me what I want to know or I will make you tell me! How many more of you are there? What were you doing at the Road Trains? How many more can resist my control?”
With an effort, Alexander regained himself and sat back in his chair, slowing his breathing. It didn't help to lose his temper. He was in control here; this was his domain.
Peter looked on, expressionless.
“Now where were we?” Alexander continued, regaining his former calmness. “Traitorous Watchman, working with southern spies. I ask again, how many more of you are there?”
Alexander paused, taking a drink of water for his suddenly dry throat. Peter looked on.
“Okay, that's okay,” Alexander said. “I have a lot to get done before we reach Draxis. Now that I know your name, I'm sure we can find some friends or relatives amongst the rabble out there, and kill them in front of you until you talk. This little game is over.”
Alexander rose and started towards the rear of the trailer, intending to call the guards. Peter realised that it was time to speak. He had no family, but he wouldn't let anyone else die, not when he could stop it.
“I'm no traitor,” he began, making Alexander pause.
Alexander smiled and returned to his seat. “Really? Please explain,” he said.
“I know Lady Safran didn't kill the Regent, the true Regent,” Peter continued. “I think you did, or you had it done. Either way, that makes you the traitor here, not me.”
“Interesting,” Alexander said. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”
“I helped her escape,” Peter told him, “from the dungeons below the palace, with the others. You didn't execute her. I don't know who you killed, but it wasn't her; it wasn't any of them. They're gone, far away from here. By now, Baron Stephen already knows that you're coming. He'll be ready for you.
“Turn the army round, let the people go home,” Peter concluded.
Alexander smiled as he replied. “Well, now, you do know some awkward secrets, don't you?” he said. “How many people did you tell?”
“I don't know,” Peter replied. “We tried, but no one believed us. Your truth was the only one that mattered to them. You've got them whipped into a frenzy of hate and blood lust and that's all that matters to them now.
“Please, you can make it stop, let them go home before they all die.”
“Now why would I want to do that?” Alexander asked.
Peter struggled for an answer. “They're your people,” he replied.
This time Alexander laughed out loud. “My people?” he said. “What makes you think I associate myself with those peasants? They are tools, nothing more. For all that you've learnt, you really know nothing, do you?
“Thank you, Mr Anderson, this has been most entertaining, but we are done here, I think.”
“But, I don't understand?” Peter asked.
“No, no, you don't, do you,” Alexander replied, retrieving the pistol from his desk and shooting Peter squarely between the eyes.
VI
As night fell, Carl led the way, rifle ready at his shoulder. Matthew was behind him, closely followed by Arian, Ben, and Safran. Joe and Mike brought up the rear. They were all armed, even Ben, though he doubted that he would be able to shoot anyone if the need arose.
Sliding down an embankment, they regrouped behind a low wall, preparing to make the run to the next piece of cover.
“On my count,” Carl said, checking all around him for any hint of movement. Ben considered asking if he should go on one, or if it should be one then go, but now was not the time for jokes. It wasn't a reference that Carl would understand anyway.
“Okay, stay low, one, two, go!” Carl said as he set off.
They ran in a crouch, along a road on the outskirts of town, making their way towards the mountain road. They were staying as far away from the centre of town as possible whilst keeping an eye on their goal. The steep inclines at the foot of the mountain meant that the road was the only way to ascend without climbing equipment.
Twenty minutes in, and they were still alone as far as anyone could tell. It was making Matthew nervous, a sentiment Ben would have described as quiet, too quiet. It wasn't long before their fears were realised.
The first shots came as they ran through a crossroads, the bullets carving holes in the tarmac to Carl's right. They reacted instantly, falling back and taking cover behind a damaged brick wall bordering the remains of a two-storey building.
“Did you see where they came from?” Matthew asked, breathless.
“Second floor, three buildings down, would be my guess,” Carl replied, popping his head up to get a better view. The wall was immediately peppered with bullets.
“We can't stay here,” Matthew continued. “There'll be reinforcements along any minute. Joe, Mike, we'll give you some covering fire. Try and get around behind them and take them out.”
There was a nod of agreement and Carl and Matthew had their weapons raised over the wall, firing blindly, as Joe and Mike slipped around the wall. After what felt like an eternity, there was a brief exchange of gunfire off to their right. “Move!” Mike yelled and Carl responded instantly, leading them in a sprint. They regrouped at the end of the road.
“We put two down,” Joe said in between deep breaths, “but they had already signalled their friends.”
Mike displayed a dirty blue bed sheet before casting it aside. “We could hear them coming,” he said. “Sounds like a lot of them.”
Matthew took it all in, formulating plans and considering options. In the end, it came down to a choice of two. Run, or stand and fight.
“We're maybe a mile from the foot of the mountain,” he began. “We could try and make a run for it, or we bed in here and hold them off. Talk to me.”
“We don't have the ammo for a long fight,” Carl said.
“And there's nowhere to dig in,” Safran said, casting an eye all around. “At best, we'd be secure on two sides.”
“Agreed,” Matthew said and they were off, leaving the road and slipping into an alley between buildings.
They had a general idea of the direction to head in, but none of them knew the layout of every street, not even Ben. Every corner was fraught with danger, every road a potential ambush. There were sounds of activity, seemingly from all around them, but no more gunfire.
“Wait, this way,” Ben said, drawing them to a momentary halt. “I remember this street; we need to head up there.”
There was no discussion. Carl took the lead and on they ran, jumping a small garden fence and then through a heavy iron gate. It was then that Joe was hit in the shoulder and any
hope they had was lost.
Carl kicked down the door of the closest building, dragging Joe along behind him as the others bundled in, Matthew and Mike giving covering fire. Most of the ground floor was still standing but there was only one door, the one they had entered by.
Ben offered to apply pressure to Joe's shoulder as the others took up positions at the windows and doors.
“This is bad, boss,” Carl volunteered, firing two shots from his rifle at movement across the road.
“Shit!” Mike added, ducking as gunfire shot out the few remaining pieces of glass from the window he was aiming through.
The moonlight cast more shadow than helpful illumination; there could have been five or fifty attackers as far as they could see. When the voice came, it could have been from anywhere.
“Hey, little rabbits,” it began, “there's nowhere else to run. You can hide in your hole till we come get you, or you can pay the toll. We keep your stuff, your women, maybe the rest of you walk outta here. What do you say?”
Carl thought he had a line on the voice and let off a short burst from his rifle. The voice laughed, a deep rich belly laugh, before gunfire erupted from all around them, splintering walls and breaking windows. They dived to the floor, covering their heads.
Once the onslaught was over, Carl and Mike took up positions at the windows, letting off rounds at any sign of movement. Matthew joined them whilst Arian and Safran leant around the door, taking shots with their pistols. Before long, the rifles were empty. Whether they were able to hit anybody, they couldn't tell; each shot they fired returned in kind.
During a lull in the gunfire, the voice spoke again. “Right about now,” it began, “I'm guessing I got more men than you got bullets. Am I right? You drop your guns out the window, maybe I don't kill you right away.”
Inside the house, nervous glances were exchanged.
“What do we do?” Ben asked, the bleeding from Joe's shoulder finally slowing.
“Your call, boss,” Carl said to Matthew.
Matthew rose to his feet, tossing his rifle and then his pistol out of the nearest window. “We stay here and we die,” he said. “We surrender, maybe we get another chance later on, I don't know. I'm sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Carl replied, dropping his weapons too. The rest of them soon followed.
They were standing, arms raised when the men burst in, all except Ben, who was still tending to Joe's shoulder. They were lined up facing the far wall as the owner of the voice entered.
“Well, now, ain’t this a sight,” he said, looking them up and down. Ben watched him as he entered.
“It's you,” the man said, smiling at Ben. “I remember you, little rabbit. Going to tell me you ain’t no southerner this time?”
“Bosen,” Ben replied.
“You remember,” Bosen chuckled. “Let's see who you brought me to play with. Check them for weapons, boys, and bring them back to base.”
With that, he turned and left, directing his men to collect the guns from outside.
The remaining men checked them all for weapons before binding their hands behind their backs. “Hey,” Matthew said as they took their time groping Safran and Arian, but he was quickly silenced as another man clubbed him in the side of the head with the butt of his rifle. He was knocked to his knees, but managed to stand again, barely.
Joe was dragged to his feet and forced to walk to the base with them, his shoulder bleeding more heavily as his arms were bound behind his back.
The march through the streets took several turns, but before long, they were standing before what Ben recognised to be the old town hall. After being escorted up the steps, they were manhandled into one of the offices, a locked heavy wooden door sealing their fate.
VII
“We have disposed of the remains, my Liege,” Larson said, addressing the Regent in his trailer. “The soldiers had already displayed the other two saboteurs, but I cut them down as requested. They have been put to the fire.”
“Very good,” Alexander replied, not lifting his gaze from the papers in front of him.
Larson paused for a moment, considering whether to proceed. “If it pleases you, my Liege, I would ask a question?” he said apprehensively.
This captured Alexander's attention. Ordinarily, he would have dismissed him out of hand. He was supposed to follow orders, not question them. Today, though, had been anything but ordinary.
Alexander was not used to questioning his own mortality. He had bent the will of the people and they were with him, marching south to enact his wishes. He had never imagined that anyone would want to harm him; it just didn't work like that. If one had resisted, then how many others? How many potential spies and assassins were within his midst?
“Proceed,” Alexander said, giving Larson his full attention.
“My Liege,” Larson began, choosing each word carefully, “I mean no disrespect. I would just ask, why would you not wish to show the people your victory? The saboteurs are dead, is it not cause for celebration?”
Alexander thought for a minute before answering. “I believe they have seen enough death for the time being,” he informed him, “and there will be so much more in the coming days and weeks. But you are right, there should be celebration. Send words to the officers; there is to be double rations this night. Let the people sleep with a full stomach.”
Larson saluted and made to leave.
“Larson,” Alexander interrupted. “Before you go, have General Boshtok attend to me. There is much we should discuss.”
Larson saluted again and left the trailer.
Boshtok entered five minutes later, standing to attention as he addressed the Regent.
“Ah, Boshtok, please come sit with me,” Alexander said, smiling. Boshtok was concerned by the apparent friendliness, but did as he was bid.
“There are plans we should discuss,” Alexander continued. “But first, tell me of the hunt for the woman. Have you found her yet?”
“Not as yet, my Liege,” Boshtok replied. “Though the scouts are widening their search. She can't have gotten far, wounded as she was.”
“Perhaps,” Alexander said under his breath. “So onto more pressing business. As you are aware, we are behind schedule. I have decided on another change of plan.”
“As you wish, my Liege,” Boshtok said.
“Yes, of course. Tomorrow morning, you are to lead the army south, across the Wastelands, heading straight for Maleton,” Alexander said, pointing out the route on the map. “You will make camp in the farmlands north of the city and await instructions. I will take one hundred of my personal guard and enter the city, heading straight for the palace. Once the palace is in my hands, I will send a messenger with further orders. From now on, the Road Trains will travel day and night. I will be in Maleton by the end of the week.”
General Boshtok considered the map, tracing the route with his finger. “It will be risky, my Liege,” he said. “We have yet to receive information on troop numbers in Maleton. The City Watch alone may number in the hundreds and who knows how many soldiers are stationed there. One hundred men, even your finest, may not be enough.”
“I only intend to take the palace, Boshtok,” Alexander informed him. “Once we are behind its walls, one hundred will be more than enough to hold it, and once they realise the army at their door, the city will surrender itself to me.”
“If you would just consider,” Boshtok began, but Alexander cut him off.
“You have your orders,” he commanded. “Now act on them. This is not a discussion. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, yes, my Liege,” Boshtok said, leaving Alexander to refine the details of his assault.
VIII
It was three hours before the office door was opened and Bosen entered, flanked by four armed men. They were still bound behind their backs, arms numb and painful as they struggled to stand. Joe was weak, but the bleeding had finally stopped.
Bosen stepped up to Arian first, caressing her fac
e as she squirmed away from him. “Choices, choices,” he said. “Where to start.”
“Leave her alone,” Matthew said, taking a step towards him. Carl moved with him, causing the armed men to block their path.
Bosen laughed and pulled Safran to him, holding her tightly around the waist. “This one then?” he suggested. “She is a little young for my tastes, but who knows? Perhaps she'll please me.”
Matthew and Carl took another step forwards, Mike joining them. Ben stood back, unsure what to do.
“What do you want, Bosen?” Ben said, trying to catch Safran's eye. “Maybe we can work something out?”
Bosen thought for a minute then laughed, dragging the struggling Safran towards the door. “I already have everything I want,” he said as his four men fell into step behind him.
They felt the explosion as well as heard it, the office walls shaking as dust fell from the ceiling. Bosen looked surprised and then angry, pushing Safran back into the room. “Lock them in, then follow me,” he yelled, already sprinting down the corridor.
The men reacted, aiming their guns at the prisoners before walking backwards from the room, bolting the door behind them.
“What was that?” Ben asked, surprised.
“No idea,” Matthew said, “but while they're distracted, let's see if we can loosen these bonds. Safran, are you okay?”
“I will be,” she replied sternly. “But if he comes near me again, I'll make him sorry.”
Matthew smiled. “Right, team up,” he said. “Stand back to back and see what you can do.”
They took turns struggling with the bonds as a further explosion and the sound of gunfire edged ever closer. Carl thought that he was making headway when suddenly there was gunfire right outside the door. They stepped away from each other without being told, backing towards the wall as the door was forced open, splintering at its hinges.
Two men entered, both dressed in a green so dark that it was almost black. Their faces were painted a similar colour, their eyes seeming to glow, white against the dark background.
Knightfall - Book 1 of The Chronicle of Benjamin Knight Page 30