45
The drumming of falling raindrops accompanied the tramp of soldiers’ feet as they lined up in Raleightown Square. It was warm rain, fat and heavy, that drenched Fletcher’s hair and ran into his eyes as he surveyed the army before him. The morning training had been cancelled, and now they would face the music.
Somewhere in the distance, the soft rumble of thunder echoed through the loud patter of the droplets. In his mind, Fletcher sensed that Ignatius and Athena were above the storm, enjoying the rushing winds that allowed them to glide high without a single flap of their wings. Fletcher had sent them to fly out without him, not wishing to punish them for his own failure.
The soldiers stood there, sullen and brooding. Not one of them would meet his gaze as he waited, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He watched them, waiting for the green of their uniforms to darken in the wet, and their hair to plaster against their heads. The message was clear. This was punishment.
‘I am ashamed,’ he shouted, tempering the frustration in his voice, turning it into controlled fury. ‘You were supposed to be the best, an army to be proud of. Now look at you. Squabbling like spoiled children.’
He stopped, examining their faces. Was that shame there? Or just frustration at being kept out in the rain?
‘I blame myself,’ Fletcher snarled. ‘I let it go on for far too long. So I’m going to let you have your chance. Get it all over and done with.’
Now they looked at him.
‘Logan, Dalia, Gallo, get up here,’ he ordered.
The three reluctantly stepped out of line and made their way to the front. He signalled to Rory and Genevieve with a subtle twist of his hand, and the two officers stepped out from the shelter of the barracks and joined him in the rain. Sir Caulder and Rotherham looked on.
Then Fletcher raised his hand. Transparent strands of kinetic energy bloomed from the tip of his tattooed finger, twisting around Logan’s feet and hands. The boy gasped as they tightened around him, and rain spattered from the invisible cord that now connected him to Fletcher’s glowing finger.
Beside him, Gallo and Dalia also struggled against their bonds, as Rory and Genevieve followed the instructions he had given them that morning.
‘What are you doing?’ Logan yelled.
‘Like I said,’ Fletcher replied grimly, ‘everyone gets their chance.’
He turned to the soldiers, who were watching with shock on their faces.
‘Dwarves, elves, I want a single file of you in front of Logan. The rest of you, in front of Gallo and Dalia.’
They stared back at him, eyes darting from him to their bound companions.
‘You heard him, move it!’ Sir Caulder barked, sending the soldiers scurrying to their places.
‘Logan made hateful comments to both your races last night,’ Fletcher announced. ‘Gallo drew a finger across his neck, and Dalia held a knife to his throat. None of them are innocent.’
He took a deep breath, hoping his plan would work.
‘You there, Tallon,’ Fletcher said, pointing at a dwarf in the front. He was the one who had stood up in anger at Logan’s comments.
Tallon looked at him, fear plastered across his face.
‘Hit him.’
Tallon hesitated.
‘I …’
‘Last night I saw you stand, ready to fight him,’ Fletcher shouted through the downpour, striding up to Tallon. ‘Is this how you treat your comrades-in-arms?’
He rounded on the troops behind him.
‘Most of you had knives in your hands. Don’t deny it!’
Now he could see shame. Downturned gazes, faces turned away from him.
‘So here’s your chance,’ Fletcher growled.
Tallon stared at the boy in front of him. Logan met his gaze and lifted his chin defiantly.
‘Go on,’ Fletcher snapped, shoving Tallon forward. The dwarf stumbled on the cobbles, catching his balance a few inches from Logan. He stared at his rival, squinting through the rain that flooded down. Then Tallon gave him a half-hearted shove on the shoulder.
‘This is foolish,’ Tallon said, looking for supporters among the crowd. But they remained silent, only staring back with fear in their eyes.
‘You call that a punch?’ Fletcher asked. ‘I thought you hated him.’
‘It’s wrong,’ Tallon said.
‘You were ready to take a knife to him last night,’ Fletcher said, stabbing a finger at Logan. ‘This is nothing compared to that.’
‘I will nae do it,’ Tallon replied.
‘Then get back in line,’ Fletcher growled, shoving him away.
He turned back to the troops, stalking across the three files. His eyes settled on Cooper, one of Logan’s cronies.
‘How about you, Cooper?’ Fletcher asked. ‘You hate Gallo enough to take him to task?’
The boy glared at Gallo, whose face whitened as the boy stepped forward.
‘Let ’im go,’ Cooper said. ‘We’ll settle it like men. One on one.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Fletcher asked. ‘There’s your enemy, right there. All you need to do is reach out and hit him.’
‘He’s helpless,’ Cooper said, shaking his head.
‘Would you not kill an orc, if it’d lost its weapon in battle?’ Fletcher asked. ‘It would be helpless, would it not?’
‘That’s different,’ Cooper argued.
‘You hate both as enemies, right?’ Fletcher said. ‘He’s nothing to you. Do it.’
Cooper stepped forward, cracking his neck. He looked into Gallo’s eyes, the muscles flexing in his jaw as he gritted his teeth. But something held him back.
‘No,’ Cooper said, shaking his head. ‘I won’t do it.’
Fletcher shoved the boy down the line.
‘Anyone else?’ Fletcher asked. ‘Someone here must have some anger to take out on these three individuals. Now’s your chance.’
He looked to the boy in front of Dalia, an ex-slave named Arif, who had been swift to pick up a knife in Logan’s defence.
Arif held up his hands and backed away, retreating to the end of the line.
‘So suddenly nobody wants to hurt each other any more,’ Fletcher said, forcing a bitter laugh. ‘What’s changed?’
His only answer was the splash of rain, and the distant rumble of thunder.
‘Here’s the thing,’ Fletcher said, running a hand through his sodden hair. ‘If you hated each other, this little dog-and-pony show would have gone a very different way. But hate isn’t your problem. It’s pride.’
He shook his head at them in disgust.
‘Too proud to bear insult. Too proud to lose face. Too proud to forgive.’
The soldiers stood silent, miserable under the vent of his anger.
‘Do you see that?’ Fletcher asked, pointing over their shoulders at the ruin of his ancestral home. ‘My family were slaughtered by the orcs. Every person in this town was impaled on spikes and left to rot on the borders of the jungle beyond those mountains. That is hatred. That is the enemy.’
He released Logan from the kinetic spell, letting the boy crumple to his knees on the cobbles. At his nod, Genevieve and Rory followed suite, Gallo and Dalia falling to the ground.
‘The Forsyths organised it,’ Fletcher said, and he saw surprise flash across their faces. ‘Told the orcs how to get in, where to go. It’s true.’
He lifted Logan to his feet.
‘And as you well know, their family have sown disunity among our peoples, to further their interests. And you’re playing right into their hands. They feed on your pride. On your fear of the unfamiliar. Don’t. Let. Them.’
Fletcher leaned in and whispered in Logan’s ear.
‘Make comments like that again and you’ll be cut from my army,’ he whispered. ‘That was your one and only chance.’
Logan scurried back to the men, helped along by a shove from Fletcher’s hand. His message to Logan had been loud and clear, even if the words themselves had not been heard by the rest of the troops. Gallo gave Fletcher a nod of respect as he rejoined the ranks, even as Dalia stalked away without giving him a second glance.
Fletcher sighed inwardly. She was as hard to read as Sylva. Still, he knew that, for the moment, the troop’s anger had been abated. He could only hope that it would stay that way.
‘My lord,’ a voice called. Fletcher turned to see a young boy emerge from the street behind him, his eyes wide with fear. ‘There’s soldiers comin’.’
Fletcher spun to look out at the mountains, where the Forsyth guards would come from. But there was nothing. The boy tugged at his sleeve and pointed down the street the way he had come.
‘No, milord, down that way.’
‘There’s no reas—’
Fletcher’s words died in his mouth. There were men marching from the north, coming into view as they turned up Raleightown’s main road.
Even from all the way down the street, Fletcher recognised the black-and-yellow of their uniforms.
These were Didric’s soldiers.