Knightfall - Book 1 of The Chronicle of Benjamin Knight

by Robert Jackson-Lawrence

  Simon and Donald had seen them move and soon joined them in their hiding place.

  “Oh no, Catrina, what happened to your hair?” Simon said, clearly startled by her change in appearance. It looked as though Catrina had cut her hair short herself, hacked at it with her knife until it stuck up in sharp tufts all over her scalp.

  “They have our descriptions,” she replied.

  Donald went to speak, but Peter cut him off with a look.

  “We need to get out of here,” Peter said hurriedly. “It won't be long before the guards who saw us call for reinforcements and then we'll have no chance.”

  “Not until it's done,” Catrina said, moving to stand.

  “Wait, wait, Catrina,” he pleaded. “It's suicide. There's no way we can get close to the Road Trains. There's just too many guards.”

  “I never asked you to come,” she said, her voice bland and empty.

  “But we're here now,” Peter told her.

  Catrina said nothing, ignoring the three men as she started back in the direction of the Road Trains.

  There was a moment’s uneasy silence before Donald spoke up. “Come on, Pete, her mind’s made up,” he said, with Simon nodding in agreement.

  “No, I won't leave her, I'm sorry,” Peter replied, rising to his feet and following her.

  Donald and Simon soon caught up with him.

  “Okay, I get it,” Donald began. “You made a promise to Matthew, but this is insane. How is getting yourself killed going to help?”

  “I have to try,” Peter replied, weaving between sleeping men and women.

  “She won't stop,” Donald continued. “Don't you get it yet? She doesn't care if she succeeds or not. She just wants to die.”

  That brought Peter to a halt, the other two men almost knocking him over.

  “I'm sorry Pete, but it's true,” Donald continued. “You saw her back there. She isn't thinking straight anymore.”

  Peter knew that he was right; he had known it for a while, but he hadn't been able to admit it to himself. His life had become one chaotic event after another, running and hiding or fighting to survive. So much had changed, so much was lost, not just for him, but for everyone. He was stood in the cold, so far away from home, trying to stop a woman he hardly knew from killing the man responsible for it all.

  He didn't know what was right anymore.

  He should never have come; he should never have helped Carl in the first place. So many thoughts and feelings, raced through him, confusing him. All he really knew was what his gut was telling him, trusting to it as he had done so many times before.

  “You're right, Don, it is true, but that doesn't mean we abandon her,” Peter said. “It means we help her. I'm going with her to see if we can't kill this new Regent and try and put a stop to this madness. You two, we'll need a diversion, something loud. Give me fifteen minutes to catch up with her, then set it off. Once it's done, run, both of you, and don't look back.”

  Donald and Simon were about to argue, but Peter was already gone.

  Peter caught up with Catrina as she was creeping behind an overloaded wagon. He tapped her on the shoulder and put a finger to his lips as she turned around. Leaning in close, her whispered, “Diversion in six or seven minutes. Wait for it, then we both run for the trailer whilst everyone is looking elsewhere.”

  Catrina nodded and crouched down, eyes on her goal.

  The diversion was everything that Peter had asked for. The explosion lit up the sky, the noise enough to wake several of the sleeping soldiers from the surrounding campfires. Peter listened to the guards, shouting for help and calling for each other to go and investigate. He set off at a sprint with Catrina at his heels.

  They arrived at the front Road Train without interruption. As they threw themselves to the ground near the trailer door, Peter took a minute to view the destruction behind them, flames and smoke billowing into the night sky. They had to act now.

  Peter stood and kept guard as Catrina moved to the front carriage and climbed to open the door. It was a little stiff, but not locked, and she was able to open it wide enough to creep through without making too much noise.

  She knew the trailer well, almost as well as her own. She had spent many days and nights in here, with Matthew, Edward and her boys, talking, eating, enjoying life. She could see it now, in her mind’s eye, Daniel on his father's knee, all smiles and laughter.

  It was the smell that brought her back to reality. She hadn't realised that she had closed her eyes as she entered the trailer, enjoying the memory. Once open, she was able to take in the full horror of what was before her.

  The trailer was almost bare; no sofa, no bed. There was a single table and a chair with someone sitting, tied in place.

  The light through the small windows at the top of the trailer was minimal and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. She was sure that it wasn't Alexander, they were too short, but it wasn't until she was directly in front of him that she was able to work out who it was.

  “Conrad,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, though the man before her was barely recognisable. His eyelids had been removed and long lines of skin had been stripped from his body and limbs. The chair and surrounding floor was covered in dried blood, still sticky in places as she stepped closer.

  She thought she had imagined it at first, but then it happened again, the slightest flit of movement in his eyes. Then his lips began to part, though no sound came from them. Impossibly, he was still alive.

  Tears were running down her face as she leant in close to him, struggling to make out anything that he would say to her. There was no sound, only the slightest movement of air against her cheek. She turned and as their eyes met, she knew what she had to do.

  Removing the knife from her belt, she rested the point against his chest and drove it deeply into his heart in one swift motion. His head slumped forward and he breathed no more. Sobbing, she made her way out of the Road Train and back to Peter's side.

  “Is it done?” he asked, already pulling her away and towards safety. Catrina said nothing, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked.

  “You there! Halt!” came the shout as three men ran from the second Road Train in their direction. Peter spun them around to see Samuel Larson and two other soldiers almost on top of them, weapons drawn and aimed in their direction.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Larson demanded, looking them up and down. Between Peter's ruined city guard uniform and Catrina's ill-fitting officer uniform, he knew at once that they were imposters.

  “Guards, arrest them, take them for questioning,” he ordered, grabbing Peter by the arm and pulling him forwards.

  “No, not like him,” Catrina cried, eyes wide with terror. Larson realised the direction that they had came from and knew what she must have seen. The moment’s hesitation was all Peter needed to act.

  “RUN!” he yelled, pushing Larson into the other soldiers, the three men going down in a tangle of arms and legs. Peter and Catrina turned and ran, racing towards the edge of the road.

  They hadn't gotten far before the sound of gunfire erupted from behind them with the shouts of their pursuers. They weaved left and right, hoping to avoid the onslaught, but a sudden pain in his left leg brought Peter to the ground.

  Catrina stopped and tried to pull him to his feet. “Don't stop, run,” he pleaded with her, blood pouring from a wound in his thigh. She stood there, hesitating.

  “Please,” he said, lying back against the road, eyes closing. Bullets continued to whistle past her as she made up her mind. After a further second of indecision, she turned and ran.

  A momentary sting in her left side dropped her to her knees, but she was quickly on her feet again, off the road and into the trees on the western edge of the Great Road. Her lungs burned and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest, but still she ran, weaving around trees as the sounds of gunfire and shouting grew ever quieter.

  Before long she could go no further
; her legs just wouldn't make another step, and she dropped to the ground, panting. The trees were spinning around her, the sky getting darker, and the last thing she saw before she passed out was the bright red of blood on her hands from the gunshot wound that had torn though the left side of her abdomen.

  Chapter 9

  I

  The sun was shining and he had a spring in his step as he came home from the market. He had the food for the feast and in two days, he would be married. He was happy.

  The traders had kindly boxed the food and it was short work bringing it from the cart into the house, his house, which he had built just for her. There were rooms enough to start a family, once they were wed. They had talked about it already.

  He called out to her, as he did every time, knowing that she wouldn't answer. Part of his mind knew that it was dreaming, it always did. The dream was always the same, reminding him of what he had before, of what he had lost. He willed himself to wake up, not to open the door, but he wasn't in control.

  He opens the bedroom door and there they are, his brother and his bride-to-be. He seemed to step out of himself, watching from the corner of the room as he steps forward and pulls her out of bed.

  She's crying, begging, as his brother, Jason, clambers away from him, reaching for clothes.

  “It's not,” Jason would say.

  “I didn't mean to,” Jason would cry.

  “I'm sorry,” Jason would plead.

  She would sit on the floor and weep.

  Jason runs for the door and he gives chase, lumbering after him, crashing out into the sunshine.

  Jason stands there, wearing only his trousers, arms in front of him, surrendering.

  “It was a mistake,” Jason begs, dropping to his knees.

  He steps forward and punches his brother, hard, driving him to the ground. Kneeling over him, he hits him again and again, each blow stronger than the last. His brother stops moving, but still he continues.

  A scream behind him and she's running at him, knife in her hand, yelling at him to stop. He gets to his feet and turns to face her. She's telling him to get away from her, but he keeps getting closer.

  He pushes her and she swipes the knife at him. He recoils as it tears into the side of his face, blood pouring onto his shoulder. That stops him, makes him pause.

  She has already thrown the knife away and is crawling towards Jason, weeping. She cradles his head and sobs, shouting and screaming.

  “He's dead,” she yells.

  “You killed him,” she cries.

  He runs and runs, not stopping, not looking back.

  “You killed him, Carl, you killed your brother!”

  “Carl!”

  “Carl!”

  “Carl. Carl, wake up, you're on watch,” Matthew said, shaking him gently at the shoulder. Carl groggily got to his feet, wiping a single tear from his eye.

  “You okay?” Matthew continued. “I can do the rest of the night if you need? We should reach Garstang tomorrow afternoon.”

  “No, no, I'm good, boss, thanks. Just not as young as I used to be, know what I mean?” Carl replied, checking his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. The camp was quiet and the fire almost out, but there were still several hours until dawn.

  Matthew smiled and patted him on the shoulder before going to join Arian for a few precious hours of sleep.

  II

  Alexander had been woken by the explosion, another night disturbed by the traitors in his midst. “Explain,” he barked at General Boshtok, anger evident on his face.

  “My Liege,” Boshtok stammered, “two men attacked the guards at one of the munitions wagons, destroying it in the process. There was an exchange of gunfire and they were both killed. They won't be causing you any more trouble and the fire, the fire is almost out, my Liege.”

  Alexander shook his head and turned to face Larson, who stood to attention under his gaze. “And what of the prisoner?” he asked.

  “He was with another, a woman, my Liege. She was shot whilst escaping; she won't have gotten far,” Larson replied.

  “What were they after?” Alexander asked.

  “He is yet to regain consciousness, my Liege,” Larson informed him.

  “Yes, yes, but where was he when you apprehended him?” Alexander asked impatiently.

  Larson took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “They appeared to be coming from the foremost Road Train,” he said. “There doesn't appear to be any damage, at least as far as we can tell until daylight. I believe that you may have been the target, my Liege.”

  This surprised Alexander. He knew that he had swayed the people to his wishes and couldn't imagine them wanting to harm him directly. They should want to please him; that was how it worked.

  “Do you have any evidence to support that assumption?” Alexander asked.

  “No, not as yet, my Liege, though that was clearly where they were running from,” Larson replied, less sure of himself.

  “Very well,” Alexander continued. “I want a full inspection of the four Road Trains, surrounding wagons, and supplies at first light. Report any findings to me directly. General, I want search teams off into the surrounding woodland and the woman or her body found, no excuses. And finally, once the prisoner is awake, he is to be brought before me.”

  There was a general murmuring of acknowledgement and the room slowly emptied, leaving Alexander alone with his thoughts.

  III

  Catrina awoke to find the sun's rays warming her face. She wasn't sure how long she had been out, but the position of the sun suggested that it was perhaps an hour after dawn.

  The pain in her side was much worse than she remembered, burning and tearing at her insides as she struggled to get to her feet. Lifting her shirt, she was able to inspect the wound clearly.

  There was a small hole in the small of her back with a slightly larger hole in her abdominal wall. Fortunately, the bleeding looked to have stopped at some point whilst she was out, but the blood on her clothes and on the ground at her feet suggested that she had lost a lot.

  Removing the shirt, she tied the sleeves tightly around her waist, the best she could manage with what she had. Her head was woozy and she almost vomited, but she had no choice; she had to get moving.

  Facing west, she set off, and for the first time in a long time, she was determined to live.

  IV

  It was shortly after noon as they crouched on the outskirts of Garstang. By Ben's reckoning, it had been three weeks and two days since they had left the farmhouse, but the end was finally in sight. He had a view of the winding road as it climbed the mountain on the far side of the town.

  “You see anyone?” Matthew asked Carl as they lay on a small hill overlooking the north side of the town.

  “No, no one at all. There should be spotters or scouts or someone, but the place looks deserted,” Carl replied apprehensively. Matthew looked over to Mike, who nodded in agreement.

  Slowly, the three men edged back towards the rest of the group, moving silently through the damp undergrowth. It hadn't rained in days, but the ground was still sodden.

  “Well?” Joe asked as they arrived.

  “No one. The place looks deserted,” Matthew replied.

  “So, that's good, isn't it?” Ben said eagerly. “We can be there by nightfall.”

  “I don't think so,” Matthew continued. “The people you said were here, they're unlikely to have just left. If we can't see them, it means that their spotters are good, very good. They probably already know that we're here.”

  Arian and Safran exchanged worried glances.

  “So what do we do?” Ben asked.

  “We need to skirt round the town completely,” Matthew informed them. “Going through the streets and gardens would be suicide. The question is whether we go now, or we wait for nightfall.”

  “I say we wait until nightfall. If we move through the outskirts, we may bypass them completely, and if not, they'll be as disadvantaged as us by
the darkness,” Carl said.

  “Joe? Mike?” Matthew asked. They looked at each other and nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, then it's decided. This way,” Matthew said as he led them back into the woodland. They made camp in a cluster of trees near the north western edge of the town and waited for dark.

  V

  Alexander was seated at his desk when the prisoner was brought before him. He was bound at the wrist and half dragged into the chair, unable to bear any wait on his injured leg. A tourniquet had been applied, but the blood was already seeping through it.

  The two guards stood to attention as Alexander looked up from his papers. “Leave us,” he said, rising. Without question, they turned and left.

  “I am glad to see you're awake,” Alexander said, moving his chair to sit opposite Peter. Peter met his gaze but said nothing.

  “It's quite the amount of trouble you and your friends have caused me,” Alexander continued. “They're all dead now, you know? The two who caused the explosion and the woman. Her body was found this morning, bled out, alone in the Wastelands. I believe the officer who found her remarked that skeets had already started to make a meal of her.”

  Peter’s gaze faltered, looking down towards the floor.

  “Ah, I see she was important to you,” Alexander said. “Wife, perhaps? Lover? Sister? No matter; you failed her like you failed the rest of your southern spies.”

  Peter opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without a word.

  “No, please, go ahead. What did you want to say?” Alexander asked.

  “I'm no spy, southern or otherwise,” Peter said, lips dry and cracked.

  “No?” Alexander replied, holding a small glass of water up to Peter’s lips and allowing him the smallest sip. “Do tell.”