Knightfall - Book 1 of The Chronicle of Benjamin Knight

by Robert Jackson-Lawrence

“Hey, Pete!” he shouted again as the crowd made another push forwards, attempting to get past the soldiers and the Road Trains to get a better view of the palace walls, and find out why the bells had sounded.

  Carl gripped Peter’s arm as he pushed the pistol harder into his back, reminding him that he should be careful about what he said next. After the morning’s ordeal, Peter knew all too well.

  “Sorry, Mitch, gotta go, gotta report to the palace!” Peter shouted, but the noise of the crowd was enough to drown him out. After a bewildered look from the young soldier, Peter pointed towards the palace gates as Carl gripped tighter on his other arm.

  The young soldier understood. “Well, tell them to get a move on,” he replied, “or this is going to get ugly!”

  Carl released his arm as they moved closer to the front of the crowd. He leaned in close to Peter’s ear and whispered, “Good job back there, but don't get sloppy. No messages or signalling your men or this is going to get messy.”

  The sergeant only nodded.

  Outside the palace gate, another large group of soldiers had gathered in a vain attempt to hold the crowd at bay. Carl edged Peter to a stop about five or six rows from the front, giving him a good view of what was going on, but being far enough away to give him good warning if any of the soldiers made a move towards him. Peter ducked low within the crowd so as not to be recognised by his men, as Carl again held his arm tightly and nudged the gun further up his back to lie directly behind his heart.

  V

  “Ah, General Boshtok,” Alexander said as he reached the ageing soldier on the balcony overlooking the town meeting area, “I would hope that matters are moving according to plan, yes?” Alexander met the soldier’s worried stare with a predator’s smile.

  “Of course,” Boshtok replied. “My . . . our men are ready to march on your orders, my, ah, Regent?”

  “Regent,” Alexander mused. “You know, I like the sound of that!”

  Alexander laughed at the soldier before turning to face the crowd, his face a picture of glee, which he quickly moulded into a look of sadness and loss as the crowd gazed upon him.

  Alexander beckoned the crowd to quiet with gestures of his arms, but it took a few shots from one of the Regent’s two guards to get their attention. Within seconds, the crowd fell into a deathly silence. Alexander opened his arms wide as he spoke to the crowd, as though beckoning them towards him or asking for a hug. Either way, they remained silent and turned to face him, hanging on his every word.

  “People, please listen to what I have to say,” he began. “As you know, today was to be a day of celebration, but sadly, it has turned into a day of tragedy and great sorrow.”

  It was unlikely that even a small portion of the crowd could hear what he was saying, but Alexander was sure that his message would be passed backwards and his words repeated many times over.

  “Friends,” he continued, “heed these words and remember. Our beloved Regent is dead.”

  His statement was met by the sound of shocked responses and of hundreds of people speaking at once. The message passed backwards through the streets and alleyways, with the comments of disbelief moving forwards back towards the palace. Alexander raised his arms high, begging the people to listen.

  “The Regent was found this morning,” he announced, “murdered in his bed chamber by the woman he had chosen to become his bride, a Draxian dagger piercing his heart.” This statement was met by another surge of sound and activity from the crowd below as they pushed forwards again against the soldiers, trying to gain access to the palace gates that they might see for themselves.

  “People, please listen to me,” Alexander pleaded. “The assassin is in our custody, caught as she fled from the deed, the blood of our leader still dripping from her hands. I speak of none other than Lady Safran, Daughter of Stephen III, forty-eighth Baron of Draxis!”

  This was met by a battle cry from the crowd as they surged forwards, crushing the soldiers against the palace wall as the soldiers tried in vain to force them back. With a glance to his left, Alexander commanded more of the personal guard be dispatched to help with crowd control.

  “People, people! Please!” Alexander continued. “The assassin and her comrades are in custody, and I say to you, justice will be done! As it has always been, blood shall be taken for blood!”

  The crowd was rapidly becoming a mob and Alexander realised it was right to push forward. The people were angry and looking for blood. He would tell them where to point their swords.

  “Those guilty will be punished for everyone to see,” he promised. “But, people, the Regent has left us without an heir. It has fallen upon me to step reluctantly into his shoes until a rightful successor can be decided upon.”

  There was a general murmuring of acknowledgement as he continued. “And now,” he told them, “I must make the most difficult decision for you. For too long, those in the south have had everything, and we have had nothing but the scraps they choose to offer us! We are not animals! We are not savages, and we do not deserve to be treated as such! They send their assassins to murder our beloved leader, and they expect no retaliation? They’ve had it their way for far too long!”

  The crowd was hanging onto his every word as if they had been waiting for this moment all of their lives.

  “No longer will they hold us back!” he continued. “No longer will they look down on us with scorn. I say to you, it is time to take what is rightfully ours!”

  Thousands of arms were raised in cheer as they were given direction for the hatred and fear that the death of their Regent had created.

  “Tell your friends and neighbours,” Alexander yelled, “for tomorrow we execute those that would plot against us, and then we march on Draxis! Anyone of age may join this most glorious battle!

  “In Cotran's name, we will have our vengeance!”

  The people continued to cheer Alexander as he held his arms high, relishing in the feeling of power he was experiencing. He had already decided that any man who did not choose to join the military would be conscripted, but from the look of the crowd, that wouldn't be a problem.

  Within minutes, he had gone from Regent’s aide and announcer of his death to the leader of a people’s army that was set to move on a foreign land, and all of it without foundation.

  The people were continuing to push forwards, shouting and cheering support at the thought of spilling the blood of an age-old enemy for the murder of their beloved leader. The knowledge that, on the previous day, similar enthusiasm had been shown for the first day of the Road Trains market had momentarily slipped their minds.

  With all of the pushing and shoving in the crowd, Carl and Peter had become separated. Carl tucked the pistol back into his coat as he scoured the crowd, looking for Peter or any sign of the militia coming after him. His heart sank as he felt a tight grip on his shoulder.

  “Come on, we’re getting out of here now!” Peter shouted at him over the noise of the crowd, dragging him backwards against the tide, his uniform not commanding the respect that it had minutes before.

  Carl followed where he was led, pushing his way through the throngs of people. As he made it out of the meeting area, he saw the first of his prized Road Trains destroyed, the engine smashed by whatever weapons the people could find to hand, the walls of the trailers torn down and the contents scattered throughout the crowd.

  VI

  By the time Carl and Peter made it back to Peter’s house, the activity of people in the streets was close to riotous, as the crowds moved through the streets and alleyways, telling people who had not made it to the town meeting area the “good news.” Carl felt sick to his stomach as he followed Peter through the half open door.

  As the door behind him was shut and bolted, Carl found himself propelled through the hallway and into the lounge beyond. Peter gripped him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close, a menacing look on his face that had broken many a prisoner in the cells.

  “Now I don’t care if you
shoot me,” Peter yelled, “but even if I have to beat it out of you, you’re going to tell me what’s going on!”

  Carl pushed Peter back and steadied his feet, standing his ground. “Come on, Pete,” he said, “you know we’d have nothing to do with killing the Regent. Island City's our livelihood. We’ve been set up. You can see that. I don’t think it’d take us three guesses to work out by who.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass somewhere outside, followed by two loud gunshots and the crashing of furniture. Both men pretended not to notice.

  “I don't believe that you could do it, Carl,” Peter replied, “but part of my brain keeps insisting that it's true.”

  “Just think about it Pete,” Carl insisted. “There's only one person I can think of who profits from this.”

  “Alexander, right?” Peter said. “This is all happening too fast, Carl. This morning, I was looking forward to a pleasant day at work. Now, I find my leader dead, some slimy skeet in his place, and we’re at war. I mean, no one had ever heard of him a couple of years ago, and all of a sudden, he’s the Regent’s chief aide. And what was Lady Safran doing here anyway?”

  “We escorted her here, Pete,” Carl confided. “In secret, just like we were told to, but she didn’t have anything to do killing the Regent. They were supposed to announcing their wedding today.”

  “That’s news to me,” Peter replied, looking surprised.

  “That was the general idea,” Carl told him. “We couldn’t risk anyone trying for her on the way here, so no one knew about it, including most of the people on the Road Trains. I’m not sure what news about the Baronies reaches here, but things aren’t going to well down there at the moment. Truth is, war’s only just around the corner, and Draxis needs new allies, a proposition the Regent was looking forward to.”

  “And now you’re going to get a war anyway,” Peter replied, “but not the one you were expecting. Seems like this is the perfect time for someone to attack, don’t you think, like they’ve been waiting for this for a while? We’ve got to do something about it, Carl.”

  “We do. We need to tell someone and stop all this madness,” Carl said.

  There was another sound of destruction from outside as Peter said, “What, you want to go out there and tell them they can’t have their war? Come one, Carl, there’s centuries of hatred between our people, and now they’ve been given a chance to do something about it. If we go out there and say a word against Alexander, we’re likely to get ourselves killed.”

  Carl looked at him, rubbing his scar as he thought. “You’re right,” he said, “of course, but we can’t just sit here.”

  “And we’re not going to,” Peter told him. “But like it or not, Carl, the armies are going to march south, and unless we do something about it, they’re going to kill your friends before they leave.”

  Carl deflated, falling into a chair and holding his head in his hands. “So what are you thinking?” Carl asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Peter replied, “but we need a plan. Look, why don’t you wait here and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “No, wait, where you going?” Carl shouted after him.

  “Just wait here,” Peter shouted back, and with that, he was out of the door.

  VII

  Ben didn’t know how much time had passed since he had been dragged here from the cell. With his arms and legs tightly bound to a chair, his eyes blindfolded and his mouth gagged, he could have been sitting there for minutes or hours. The only sound was of his heart pounding fast in his chest and the occasional cry or scream from elsewhere in the dungeon.

  He heard the creak of a door opening somewhere to his left, and then the light footsteps of someone entering. The man walked slowly around his chair before speaking, and Ben had the distinct impression that whoever it was, was staring at him intently.

  The man untied Ben’s blindfold and light from the open doorway burned his eyes. Ben tried to turn his head away from the glare, but hands gripped his face and held it in place.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Knight,” the man said, and although Ben was unable to focus, he recognised it to be Alexander. His voice had the same mocking quality that it had had when Alexander laughed at the death of Edward.

  With an effort and a lot of blinking, Ben was able to look Alexander in the eye as he released him and stepped back, slowly circling around Ben’s chair as he spoke.

  “I’m glad to see you looking so well,” Alexander continued. “I always think it’s important to be fit in body and mind before we begin. Where is the sport in breaking one who is already broken, hmm? Oh, please forgive me.”

  Alexander untied Ben’s gag, allowing Ben the opportunity to speak.

  “What going on? What do you want from me?” Ben asked as he pulled at his restraints, all to no avail.

  “Why, information, of course, Mr Knight,” Alexander informed him. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “What do I know? I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks,” Ben replied.

  “Exactly my point. If your story, as you tell it, is true, you could be just the person I’ve been looking for!”

  Alexander stopped in front Ben’s chair, and, gripping Ben’s arms tightly, moved his head to within inches of Ben’s face. His voice took on a menacing whisper that sent a sensation of pure terror up Ben's spine.

  “Start talking,” Alexander hissed.

  Ben tried to shy away, but there was nowhere to go. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “I don’t know anything.”

  Alexander moved away from Ben’s face and started circling the chair again, his hands clasped behind his back. “Tell me your story again, Mr Knight,” he said. “I had a feeling it was, shall we say, a little rushed last night? Try not to leave anything out.”

  “Like I said yesterday,” Ben told him, “I just went to the laboratory, there was an incident, and I woke up in the Wastelands. There’s nothing more to it.” Ben tried to make himself sound relaxed and believable as he spoke, but he could still hear the fear and dishonesty in his voice. From the way Alexander was looking at him as he passed, Ben was sure that he could as well.

  “Right, I see,” Alexander said smiling.

  Ben watched Alexander leave the room, closing the door behind him and immersing Ben in total darkness. Ben tried again to loosen his restraints, but the pain from his wrists was already beginning to deter him. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he started to be able to see the outlines of his hands against the chair, lit by the small sliver of light that slid under the door into the room. His mind was telling him that the restraints hadn’t moved at all.

  His heart had slowed for the time being and he turned his attention to listening to anything that was happening outside. Apart from the occasional scream, he could only perceive the hazy underwater sound that you hear when in total silence. He strained all of his senses, trying to pick up the slightest sound or sense of movement from outside the door, but none came to him. There wasn’t even a comforting drip from the corner, like he had had in the other cell, allowing him no sense of the passage of time at all.

  Ben wasn’t sure how far away from the others he was. After he had been dragged from the room, the guards had bound his wrists and blindfolded him, seemingly walking him through a maze of corridors and passageways until he had no sense of direction. Eventually, they had bound him to the chair and left him to it, until Ben no longer knew if it was day or night. Alexander had wished him a good afternoon, but that didn’t mean anything as far as Ben was concerned. He needed to keep his mind focused and tell them what they wanted to hear, not necessarily what was true.

  “Hello,” Ben called out, listening to the sound of his voice come back to him as it echoed around the small stone cell. “Can anybody hear me?”

  There was no response or activity from outside, so Ben went back to trying to loosen his restraints.

  Alexander returned some time later, opening the door wide, and flooding Ben�
��s dark adapted eyes with light. This time he was not alone.

  As his eyes adjusted, Ben watched as Alexander came to stand on his right, and the burly guard on his left. Alexander was smiling to himself as he walked.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Knight,” Alexander said. “Still looking well, I see.”

  Ben’s head was snapped sharply to the side as the guard punched him squarely on the jaw. Alexander smiled as he relished Ben’s pain.

  “So, we’ll start again, shall we,” he said. “Tell me who you are and where you’re from.”

  Ben moved his head to look Alexander in the eye, moving his jaw painfully to make sure that it was still working, tasting the blood flowing into his mouth. “I told you what happened,” he pleaded. “I just woke up here, like I said.”

  “I don’t believe you. Guard,” Alexander replied.

  The guard hit Ben again, harder than the first time, snapping his head to the side and creaking his neck. Ben reflexively tried to move his hands to his face, rubbing his wrists on the restraints and making the pain even worse.

  “Please, please don't, I told you,” Ben begged.

  “Guard.”

  Again, the guard struck Ben in the face. Ben was close to tears as he pleaded with Alexander to stop.

  “Please, I told you everything,” he told him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell me the truth, Mr Knight. Tell me again who you are and where you’re from?”

  “I don't know. I’m not sure any more,” Ben replied as his tears began to flow and he broke down before them, wishing for it all to end.

  The guard raised his fist again, causing Ben to shrink himself away as much as possible. “Please, stop it, just stop,” Ben said, crying as he spoke, broken in body and almost in spirit.

  “Okay, we’ll start again,” Alexander said. “Who are you and where are you from?”

  Ben spoke through his tears. “I told you the truth,” he said. “I just woke up in the Wastelands. There was an accident at the lab and the next thing I knew, I was here. I don’t know what happened.”