‘It’s not worth dying over!’ Fletcher shouted. The mob’s shouting reduced to a murmur as they turned their eyes on to him.
‘We have nothing else,’ Janet replied, curling her lip and spitting to show her contempt. ‘Without these “homes” we’d be begging for food on the streets of Boreas, if the Pinkertons don’t run us out of the city first. Half of us will freeze to death before the year is out.’
Her words struck Fletcher hard. It was so easy to think that they could rebuild their lives, find jobs elsewhere. Yet he could still remember that fateful night two years ago, when he himself had been forced to leave Pelt. The fear, the doubt. Even then, he’d had money, clothes, weapons. These people had nothing. He wished that he could help them, but he had barely anything to give.
‘Cat’s got your tongue has it, Lord Raleigh?’ Janet mocked. ‘That’s right, we know all about your heritage now. Get off your high horse and stand aside. This is where we make our stand. There’s nowhere else.’
But there was. The realisation dawned on him, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. It would be hard work, and he would not be there to help them. But he owed these villagers. Owed Berdon.
‘Wait! There is somewhere you can go!’ Fletcher shouted. Ignatius snarled as the guards took a step closer. ‘Raleighshire. You can resettle there.’
Silence descended, broken only by the clinking of metal from the guards’ uniforms.
‘There are abandoned villages there. Land for hunting, rivers for fishing. It’s warm, on the jungle border. You can rebuild. Start anew.’ Fletcher spoke rapidly, for there was another bark of warning from Ignatius as the guards moved forward once again.
‘You think we’d be safer, near the jungles? With orc raiders coming over the border every day, slaughtering us? I’d rather take my chances right here, right now,’ Janet hissed.
‘You know me, all of you,’ Fletcher said, addressing the crowd. ‘I will be the liege lord of the lands you live on. I swear I will do my utmost to keep you safe and secure, when I return there.’
Ignatius scampered up his leg and on to his shoulders, and Fletcher took Berdon and Sir Caulder by their arms.
It was time to change tactics. ‘You can die here, like stubborn fools,’ Fletcher said, walking towards the crowd. ‘Or you can follow us, to a new life. It’s up to you.’
Fletcher pushed through the mob, walking away from the soldiers. He felt their eyes on him as he brushed past, and he hoped they couldn’t see the red blush of fear burning the back of his neck. Had it worked?
Berdon spoke loudly in his deep baritone voice as they broke out of the gathered people.
‘Those who would come with us, gather your things and meet me at the edge of the encampment. Take only what you can carry, for the road will be long. The rest of you, I shall see in the afterlife.’
Fletcher, Berdon and Sir Caulder walked on, not looking back. They heard the squelch of footsteps behind them, but if it was more than a few, Fletcher couldn’t tell.
‘How many are following us?’ Sir Caulder whispered out of the side of his mouth, grunting with effort as he wrenched his peg leg through the mud.
‘No idea,’ Berdon murmured back. ‘Don’t look. Give them a few minutes.’
They walked on, through the last of the hovels, until they stood alongside the mountain path that led down from the village. There were no gunshots, but they kept their heads facing forward, looking out into the valleys below. The sun was still rising in the distance, bathing the treetops in golden light.
‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to go with Berdon here, back to Raleighshire,’ Sir Caulder said, his voice tentative, barely louder than a whisper. ‘It’s where I belong, and I don’t think I’ll be safe at Vocans after what I said at the trial.’
‘You’re welcome to, of course. You know, I didn’t get a chance to thank you. You took a great risk, telling that story,’ Fletcher said to Sir Caulder.
‘Think nothing of it, my dear boy. It was my duty. I am glad that I was able to save you, even if I was unable to save your parents all those years ago. Can you forgive me?’ His voice quavered, and Fletcher remembered that, though a capable warrior, Sir Caulder was an old man, nearing the end of his years. He could imagine how terrible his guilt had been, kept hidden for so long.
‘There is nothing to forgive. The past is the past,’ Fletcher said. ‘I will focus on the family and friends I have left, you included.’
He paused and turned to Berdon, who was staring out at the sunrise, avoiding his eyes.
‘You know you’re still my dad, right?’
Berdon closed his eyes and smiled, the tension dropping from his shoulders.
‘There are some things I have to do soon,’ Fletcher went on, putting his arm around Berdon’s broad back. ‘Things that will take me away from you. But I promise I’ll come home. We can found the new village together, far away from the hellhole this place has become.’