‘Alright,’ he said. ‘If Corthie agrees, then he can go with you and Laodoc to Holdings City to visit your mother; and if she also gives her blessing, then you can take him to the Plateau. You’ll be his guardian, Miss Holdfast.’
‘Thank you, father,’ she said. ‘I’ll look after him.’
Chapter 2
Riot Squad
Boxer City, Rahain Republic – 5th Day, First Third Spring 524
‘Move your arses!’ the captain cried. ‘Get into line!’
Lennox and the rest of the company pushed forward, their shields over-lapping, shoving the Rahain protesters back. The soldiers kept their maces harnessed and their short swords sheathed, and instead carried thick, two-foot staves of hardened wood. The crowds surged around them, packing the wide cavern. Lennox swung out, catching a civilian on the side of his head and battering him to the ground. He stepped over the fallen man and kept pushing, while blood trickled along the street. The others in his squad did the same, and the squads on either side, forming a solid line of steel and muscle.
The protesters pulled back in disarray, some clutching injuries, others abandoning their fallen comrades.
‘Halt!’ screamed an officer and the soldiers obeyed.
From under his helmet, Lennox gazed at the Rahain faces in front of him. They were full of hate – not for the soldiers, but for the captives being led out of the large mansion behind them. Another nest of unbelievers, rooted out from their hiding place in the most dangerous city in Rahain.
A few protesters began to lob rocks over the heads of the soldiers, trying to hit the objects of their loathing. Out of the corner of his eye Lennox could see their target: a small group of elderly citizens, most in their nightclothes, shivering in the cold air. A squadron of religious police were attaching shackles to the captives’ wrists, while others were carrying bundles of books, maps and other illegal items out of the mansion and were throwing them into a pile on the street. A stray rock landed among them, and a police officer went down, blood pouring from his nose.
‘Fuck,’ said Darine to his left. ‘Did you see that?’
‘Aye,’ Lennox said.
‘Squad!’ cried Logie, their squad-leader. ‘Charge the bastards!’
The eight men and women of the Fifth Squad, First Company, Fourth Regiment of the Army of Pyre were off in a second, their shields together as they rushed the crowd. The Rahain civilians fled at the sight, shouting and screaming, and the soldiers smashed into them, shoving them to the ground with their shields and lashing out with their staves. Lennox’s right arm swung again and again, felling any civilian within reach until the crowd had retreated a full fifty yards.
‘Pull back!’ cried Logie, and the squad moved back into their original positions, stepping over the bodies of the wounded and unconscious Rahain.
‘That’ll fucking teach ‘em,’ Logie grinned. ‘Nice work, lads and lasses.’
Lennox said nothing, keeping his eyes on the protesters as several inched forward to drag off their injured companions.
‘Ten years of fucking training for this shit,’ Darine muttered behind her raised shield.
‘Cheer up,’ said Logie. ‘It’s all good practice for the big one.’
Lennox glanced to his rear. In the open space created by the soldiers, the pile of books was growing, while the captives now numbered more than a dozen. Police officers swarmed around them, linking them together with chains, ready to be escorted to the Palace of Justice for questioning and execution. Standing by was the captain of the army detachment, talking with the leaders of the police squadron. His steel armour glinted in the lamplight as he gazed down at the Rahain, each of whom were a foot shorter than him. He nodded.
‘Squad-leader Logie,’ he called out.
‘Aye, sir?’
‘Your squad will lead,’ the captain said. ‘We’ll be taking Red Ochre Way to the city centre. Our priority is to get the prisoners to the Palace of Justice alive. Get into position and await my signal.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Logie turned to the squad. ‘You heard the man, let’s go.’
The eight soldiers withdrew from the line, while others moved to take their places facing the protesters. Logie marched in front, with his seconds Lennox and Darine behind him. The rest of the squad marched in twos, with Cain taking the rear. They walked past the pile of illegal goods that had been brought from the mansion as police officers were pouring oil onto it. The squad reached a large security gate to the left of the mansion, which blocked access to Red Ochre Way. Beyond the bars another crowd of civilians was gathering.
Lennox turned to watch the religious police as the squad stood by the gates. The captives were being pushed back, and someone threw a lit torch onto the pile. It ignited in seconds, the oil sending up tendrils of black smoke as the books burned. Lennox stared at the flames. He shut out the sounds of the roaring mob and concentrated on the fire. Behind his shield, he flexed the fingers of his left hand, and the flames at the centre of the fire responded; growing, and moving at his command. He kept his motions small, so that no one could see what he was doing, focussing on where the fire was burning brightest.
He smiled. Nothing felt as good.
He imagined how frustrated he would have been if he had remained in the line of soldiers flanking the other side of the mansion, with his back to the fire where he wouldn’t be able to see it. For six years he had lived for these stolen moments.
‘What are you grinning at?’ Darine said.
He released his slender hold on the fire and turned to her.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re a strange lad.’
He looked away. Throwing fire was his passion, but it was shared by the love he felt for the woman standing next to him. It was another thing he tried to keep secret, though not with the same success. While no one knew about his powers, he suspected most of the squad were aware of his feelings for Darine.
‘This is going to take all day,’ Darine went on.
‘Aye, probably.’
‘Fucking useless police,’ Logie said, approaching his seconds. ‘They’re always slowing us up.’
‘Here, boss,’ said Cain from where he was standing by the gates. ‘This crowd’s getting bigger. We might need more than one squad to push our way through.’
Logie glared at him. ‘We’re the Fifth. We don’t need any help.’
Lennox and Darine turned and peered through the bars. At least a hundred civilians had assembled, and were standing a few dozen yards down Red Ochre Way. They were staring up at the flames rising in front of the mansion.
The captain strode up and handed Logie a large set of keys. ‘Open the gates.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Logie threw the keys to Cain, who started to unlock the entrance.
‘Form up,’ Logie cried.
‘The police squadron will be coming along right behind you with the prisoners, squad-leader,’ the captain said, ‘and the rest of the company will be holding the rear. Wait for the whistle, then stop for nothing.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Cain pulled open the gate and the squad got into a line, with Logie in the centre, and Lennox and Darine at either end. From his position on the left, Lennox glanced down the row of soldiers. His squad. His family. Most he had known since he was eight years old; Cain and Libby since he was four, when they had been held in a children’s camp together.
He faced the front and watched the gathering crowd of Rahain. The line of soldiers towered over them. He smiled when he remembered Logie’s words. One squad would be enough.
The whistle blew, and the squad took off without a word, rolling their shieldwall towards the centre of the mob, gaining speed as they ran, but remaining locked together as one, their boots thundering down the wide tunnel as they left the cavern behind them.
At the sight of the wall of Kellach Brigdomin flesh and steel accelerating towards them, the crowd broke and ran. Panic spread like fire and some fell, as others pu
shed and shoved to get out of the way. Civilians raced down side tunnels, fleeing the charging squad as they battered their way through the crowd. There was no need for staves; Lennox and the others needing only their shields to clear a path, trampling over the bodies of any who fell.
As the crowd dispersed, Logie called out and the squad reverted to a slower pace. Lennox glanced over his shoulder to see the police squadron running behind them, the small group of prisoners herded into their midst.
‘I might have stood on someone’s head back there,’ said Cain.
‘They shouldn’t have been in our way,’ said Logie. ‘It’s their own fucking fault.’
Lennox gazed ahead of him as they marched. The tunnel was nearly cylindrical, with streaks of dark red patterning the rough ceiling and walls, and the flat, polished floor reflected the light of the wall-lamps. It was a quiet district, with the tunnel used as a shortcut from the Palace of Justice and the army barracks into the heart of the city. It saved having to escort the prisoners through the packed central caverns, where not all of the populace were sound in their loyalties. While the other six cities had long been subdued, Boxer City was still riddled with pockets of those sympathetic to the old regime. In public they pretended to worship the Creator God, but in secret, and in the presence of large crowds, their true allegiances revealed themselves.
To root out unbelievers and rebels, that was the job of the religious police. The Army of Pyre was only there to keep the peace on the streets.
The Palace of Justice loomed ahead, a massive building at the end of the tunnel. It was constructed from grey stone shot through in blue and rose to touch the ceiling of the great cavern where it sat. A large steel barrier was positioned where the tunnel opened onto the cavern, guarded by a squad of Rahain soldiers in dark brown uniforms.
The gates were opened as they approached, and the squad marched through, not bothering to acknowledge their Rahain comrades. More soldiers stood at their posts round the perimeter of the building, and no civilians were in sight. There was a large, fortified reception hall where prisoners were taken, and the squad passed through the doors and inside.
Behind them followed the police, some carrying sacks of illegal items taken from the mansion, and others herding the captives forwards. The squad stood to one side as they approached the processing station.
Lennox glanced at the prisoners as they passed. Most looked fearful, but a few were holding their heads high. One stared at the soldiers as she shuffled past, her tongue flickering.
‘Heretic scum,’ muttered Darine. ‘I hate this fucking city.’
There was a commotion as one of the prisoners burst free from the clutches of the religious police. He barrelled into someone carrying a sack and its contents spilled to the floor as they fell. Within seconds, police officers had surrounded the captive, beating him with their short staffs. In the chaos Lennox noticed that a book had landed by his feet. Without thinking, he picked it up, ready to hand it to one of the officers, but all eyes were on the beating and no one noticed him. He wedged it under his steel breastplate.
The noise died away as the prisoners were led towards the cells beneath the palace, the beaten man carried by two of his fellows.
Logie turned to the squad. ‘Back to the barracks. Fun’s over.’
The Army of Pyre’s fortified base in Boxer City accommodated the entire Fourth Regiment – one thousand soldiers, along with their staff and several hundred young cadets. It dominated a major junction between the governmental district and the poorer, peasant quarters, and next to the City Council and Palace of Justice, it was one of the largest buildings in the centre.
It was also one of the ugliest. It projected fear and strength rather than grace or elegance, and stuck out against the fine architecture of the millennia-old city. The walls around it were guarded day and night, and no Rahain were allowed to enter without a permit from the church or the Lord Protector himself. First Company had its own wing, and the squad entered through a series of steel gates, each flanked by crossbow slits. The wing had a shared chamber for bathing and the squad made their way there.
‘Make it quick,’ cried Logie as they began undressing in the changing rooms next to the baths. ‘The rest of First Company will be here soon.’
They unbuckled each other’s armour and pulled their helmets off.
‘Libby, what the fuck?’ Logie said. ‘Get your fucking hair cut. You know the rules, no longer than the back of your helmet.’
Libby scowled.
‘I knew he’d catch on sooner or later,’ Lennox whispered to her as he unlaced his boots.
‘Miserable bastard,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘It’s a stupid rule. Why can’t I just tie it back? It’ll still fit into my fucking helmet.’
‘He’s just jealous,’ said Cain, after checking that Logie was out of earshot. ‘He wishes he had hair like us.’
Libby laughed and Lennox smiled at his oldest friends. While the rest of the squad had brown hair, Cain was blond, Libby was a redhead, and Lennox’s own hair was as black as coal. Fifteen years they had known each other, and in that time they had lived and slept and grown up together with hardly a day spent apart. It was for them that he had kept his fire powers secret. He would never be separated from them.
The squad stacked up their weapons and armour and threw their sweat-stained under-garments into a large laundry basket, then piled into the bath. The water was roasting and steam filled the room like fog. Lennox slipped into the water up to his chest, feeling the aches and tiredness of the day fade away.
‘Scrub my back,’ said Libby, handing him a long brush.
‘Aye, sure,’ he said.
He noticed Darine at the other end of the pool, and he looked away before the sight of her could cause him any embarrassment. He found her attractive when she was hidden beneath layers of leather and steel, let alone seeing her naked in the baths.
Cain poured a bucket of water over the heads of Lennox and Libby.
‘Fucksake,’ yelled Libby. ‘Warn me first, eh?’
‘Sorry.’
She shook her head, water spraying off her red hair. Lennox handed her the brush.
‘My go.’
He turned away from her and washed himself as Libby scrubbed his back. He glanced up at the entrance to the changing rooms. The soldiers who had been making up the rear were now arriving, shoving their way in and pulling off their gear.
Lennox remembered the book.
His armour was piled up alongside the rest of his squad’s, right next to where soldiers were bustling. If one of them were to discover it…
He pulled himself up out of the pool.
‘Hey,’ said Cain. ‘What about my back?’
Lennox ignored him. He grabbed a towel and fresh tunic from a shelf and barged into the changing rooms, halting when he got to his heap of armour and weapons. He kept his head down as he dried himself, saying nothing, before pulling the tunic over his head. He gathered up his equipment in his arms and squeezed out of the door, avoiding the stream of arriving soldiers.
Libby caught him up as he strode towards their quarters.
‘What in Pyre’s name was that about?’ she said, water still dripping from her hair as she clutched her armour.
‘Nothing.’
‘Yer arse.’
‘Not here.’
Libby quietened, and they walked the remainder of the way in silence. The Fifth Squad had their quarters on the upper floor of the wing and they ascended the stairs. There were six squads barracked on each floor, all with an identical suite of rooms. Lennox pushed open the door into the reception hall of their own quarters and put his pile of armour down onto a table. Libby followed him in and closed the door.
‘Well?’
Lennox walked over to the row of storage lockers and opened one. Into it he placed his helmet, mace, boots and leathers, carefully arranging them. His steel breastplate he kept to last.
‘I picked up something when we were in the
Palace of Justice.’
‘Eh? What?’
‘I meant to hand it in, but everyone was too busy and I forgot.’
‘Let’s see it then.’
He pulled the book out from where it had been lodged behind the armour’s straps and showed it to her. She peered at it, her eyes narrowing.
‘Get rid of it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want that shit in here.’
He glanced at the book. It was a slim, printed volume, with a title picked out in silver lettering on its plain blue cover.
The Art of Philosophy
‘Shit,’ he said.
‘Shit is right,’ Libby said. ‘That one book alone is enough to get someone hanged. Hand it in.’
‘But what if they think it was mine?’
‘I’ll vouch for you. I’ll say I saw you pick it up, and we talked about it. We’ve nothing to hide. You are going to hand it in, aren’t you? I can’t let you keep it here.’
‘I don’t want to keep it,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d never touched it. But maybe I should throw it away. I don’t want you to get into trouble as well.’
The door swung open as Libby opened her mouth to speak. Lennox shoved the book into his locker, burying it beneath his folded leathers.
Logie smirked at them. ‘Did you two actually get washed? What happened? Did you get too close in the pool and decide to come up here for a quickie?’
The rest of the squad laughed as they entered.
‘Aye,’ Libby said. ‘Jealous, are you?’
Logie laughed. ‘No. I’ve already had you. Once was enough.’
Libby’s face went red as a few others laughed. Lennox remained silent, and he noticed Cain glare at the squad-leader.
‘Right, you lot,’ Logie went on. ‘Stow your kit and get dressed for dinner.’
Lennox hung his breastplate from a hook and closed his locker as the rest of the squad began to pack away their things.
‘Ignore him,’ Cain whispered to Libby. ‘He’s a dickhead.’
Aside from the entrance, there were three other doors leading from the reception hall. One led to a prayer room, and another to the squad’s toilet. Lennox walked through the third door and into their bunkroom. He pulled off his tunic and sat down on his bed. He knew he should be angry about Logie’s comment to Libby, but all he could think about was the book, and how stupid he had been. He opened a drawer and took out a fresh set of clothes; the officers always wanted them looking smart at mealtimes. The others began to come into the bunkroom as he got dressed, chatting and laughing. Cain had the bunk above Lennox, and his expression was angry as he walked over. He was in love with Libby, and had been for years, and Lennox knew he got upset every time Logie mentioned that he had slept with her.
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