A New Leader Emerges Read online

compelled to endure the sobbing of those who grieved; the cries of agony of those who were injured, and the pained moans those who were dying. Now it was over, his shock and terror turned to an incensed sob of rage. He knew without knowing that never in the whole history of Quone-Loc-Sie had the gates of the keep closed on the people in such a manner, and he vowed that he would do all he could so that never would such brutality be allow to happen again.

  The Marshal came out onto the balcony again. This time with Antony, his hands tied high up behind his back with a rope that looped around his neck. His clothes were torn, and he was covered in streaks of blood. Even from a distance it was clear he had been viciously beaten. He was pushed to the front, and almost fell forward over the balcony.

  Simeon saw an officer shouting at him, and then moments later brutally hit him with cudgel.

  Antony took the blow then stood and spoke. “I ask my fellow conspirators to offer themselves up for the sake of the innocent people of the city… I tell them that the Marshal promises a terrible retribution. Do this for the sake of the people... the revolution will still…” he tried to shout out, but was dragged back inside the building.

  The Marshal spoke again. “Today is doubly a celebration, so in my generosity, I will extend the deadline a further five minutes so that those amongst you may dwell on this wretches words of warning. Until the clock strikes seven, but not a moment later.”

  The seconds and minutes ticked by until the distant chimes of the city clock came to them over the wall. One by one the peals slowly rang, and on the seventh the Marshal once more appeared. “I have to tell you that no person has been offered to me.” He said sourly.

  A patchy cheer broke out from the crowd.

  The Marshal carried on as if he had not heard. “Therefore I instruct the guard to commence.” He stood and quietly stared up to the battlements of the wall, where thirty or more bowmen stood. Without further encouragement they put arrows in their bows and fired indiscriminately into the crowd. Screams and panic broke out as people attempted to flee in any direction to escape the rain of arrows. But there was no cover, and the guards stationed in the courtyard beat any that found it, back out again.

  Dozens fell, and as many dived into the drains and were swept down to be trapped in the pipes. Casually the bowmen loaded and shot again. Parents protected their children with their own bodies, husbands their wives, only to leave their loved ones exposed to the deadly hail when they themselves died.

  Simeon could bear the slaughter no longer and began to shout out that he would surrender, but no one could hear him above the screaming. He fought desperately back towards the doorway and the guard, shouting as loud as he could for them to stop.

  Tears of grief and despair were pouring down his face at the carnage when the Marshal raised his hand in the air and the deadly rain stopped. “Those that remain, give yourselves to the garrison before the slaughter recommences.”

  Simeon sobbed; he was trying to surrender as hard as he could. .

  Dejected and with all hope lost Simeon let the guards chain his arms behind him before he was brutally checked for hidden weapons. Then he was pushed forward into the building.

  There others waited, their faces and eyes showed the hopelessness he felt as they were manacled by their ankles to the one in front and the one behind. In groups of six they were whipped into a short stepped rapid walk down into the depths of the keep. It was almost a relief after what seemed like an hour of rough pushing and kicking that he was thrown into a small dark cell.

  It was some time after the drawbridges had risen; that makeshift rafts had come out to ferry the injured; then the survivors to the shore. Safe on the streets of the city Nicholas wandered around in a daze. Unthinkingly he still clutched the child, and it clutched him. Sometime later a sobbing man came towards them, he cried out a name, the child responded reaching out, but Nicholas held onto as if it were part of his own body. The man almost had to drag the child from him before at last Nicholas’s mind understood their actions. He released his grip and the child fell into the man’s clutching grip; weeping. Nicholas stood watching them feeling totally lost until another voice pierced the fog in his mind.

  “You… help me,” a man commanded with such authority that Nicholas’s feet were responding before he comprehended. He saw three men, one tending another who lay injured as the speaker prepared to lift an improvised stretcher. “Grab the other end,” the man demanded more out of frustration than anger while leaning down. “The other end… Damn you man: pick it up.” Nicholas fell to a crouch and gripped the rough handles, realizing only then it was a ladder covered in cloth.

  For hours Nicholas mindlessly did as he was directed, tending to the injured, helping where he could, and then removing the dead. Darkness had long fallen when the creak of straining rope was heard again.

  Now that all had been done for those who needed it, people stood silently in the flickering light of their lanterns; unable to help anymore, but unable to tear themselves away from the dreadful scene.

  As the drawbridge came down and found its way into the recess made for it on the tower island, the second started to open.

  Nicholas stood and watched as the crowd that had been inside the keep staggered miserably out across the bridges. Some covered in blood, others with wounded friends leaning on their shoulders for support, and yet others; too many others, carrying the corpses of the dead. How many men, Women and children had lost their lives behind and before the wall he had no idea, other than the number was great. There had been no sign of Simeon or Antony but he hadn’t really expected there to be.

  The wagon entered the fringes of the forest and came to a stop at the edge of a large clearing. Victoria looked at Bertram and Malcome.

  “What you are about to witness will be hard to understand, but please do not be frightened.” She spoke softly towards what they had taken to be an ornamental bracelet. Before she had stopped talking an area in the center of the clearing began to shimmer and a large silver mirage formed before them. The men stared in astonishment the shape became solid.

  “It is not magic, just something you do not understand. Please bring her,” Victoria said as she began to walk over to the apparition before stopping as she sensed their hesitation. “I promise you will be quite safe, please bring her?”

  Reluctantly they took Harriet off the wagon and followed to an opening that had appeared. Neither wanted to be the first to step inside, but eventually Bertram holding the front of the stretcher had no option.

  With a certain amount of difficulty he followed Victoria through a passageway to a small room where a cot was set against the wall. They laid Harriet on it, and both men; careful not to touch anything stood back. Victoria pulled a wire from the wall and placed it against the girl’s neck. Data scrolled down a screen above the cot. There was a faint beep that grew louder until it was constant. Victoria moved it slightly and again there was a beep, but a different tone. She muttered something and reached for a transparent bag. Malcome leaned by her a little to see two marks had been left on the girl’s neck. Victoria tore open the bag, taking out a piece of clear thin tubing, connecting one end to a connection in the wall. From the same bag she next took a needle fastened it to the tube; then pressed it deep into Harriet’s neck, at one of the marked locations. Pale pink plasma ran down the tube and into her body. Instantly Harriet’s body arched in reaction.

  Bertram winced at the sight.

  Victoria repeated the procedure with another tube then she brought down a transparent curved lid over the girl. She made several movements with her fingers over a small panel and turned to Malcome. “I will now need your assistance?”

  “This is far beyond what I learned at the academy,” he said softly. “I don’t know that I will be able to help.”

  “All you have to do is watch this graph,” she pointed to a screen. “Until it returns to follow this other pattern.”

  He nodded uncertainly as she folded down a seat from
the wall. Without waiting for Malcome to ask any questions she took out another bag, and indicated towards the graph. “The machine can synthesize, but it is preferable that she gets a percentage of genuine blood.” Victoria removed another tube and needle.

  Suddenly Malcome spoke. “You are going to transfuse, aren’t you?”

  Victoria nodded as she assembled the second tube and sat in the chair while the plasma ran down towards the needle. She saw the look of respect in Bertram’s face and realized how belittling it was for a respected member of their community to be reduced to asking questions. “You know of the procedure?” she said in a more friendly voice.

  Malcome nodded. “Only that I have read that it is possible.”

  The plasma had begun to drip out of the needle, and she pressed the needle against her inner wrist; there was a faint hiss. She saw the colour drain from Bertram’s face as she drew sharp breath. “This isn’t the best way,” she said apologetically. “But the here and now does not permit us that luxury.”

  “I heard once that in the royal houses it was done… but there was something about bad... or wrong blood?” he said, beginning to relish the position of Victoria's aide.

  “It can be of the wrong type,” she said without trying to sound as if