SHE WAS GLAD he’d chosen to come with her. She’d grown to like his company and she didn’t want to go on alone. There was no knowing what she might find when she got to her home and he’d proved himself brave and loyal. The strangeness about him only made him more intriguing…
Their narrow path joined a wider track that ran alongside another shallow, swift-running river, the water darkened by peat to a deep brown; trout darted under the surface like swift black shadows. The landscape was changing from the high moors to greener, lusher lands, the hills more rounded, gentler altogether. Augusta would have expected to see sheep dotted about in the small stonewalled fields that divided the steep valley sides, lambs with their dams, but there was none to be seen. The fields were empty, gates torn from their hinges. A shepherd’s hut stood charred by fire, the roof gone.
Augusta reined in her horse.
A sign by the side of the road that announced this to be Parrysland had been knocked down.
“I don’t understand,” Tom said. “I thought this was your land. How come it says Parrysland?”
“Because Parry is my man, so his land is my land. To understand it you’d have to understand the Glass Town Federation and how it was founded. It’s complicated and we don’t have time for long explanations. I’ll tell you as much as I know, but not now. I don’t like the look of what’s been happening here. Come on!” She kicked on her horse.
At the end of the valley, their track joined a wider road. The surface was churned and rutted, the verges trampled and muddy; wagons, horsemen and many marching feet had passed this way.
They followed the road to a village. A mill stood by the side of the river; next to it an inn. The road was bordered by grey stone walls with houses of the same stone ranging up from the road, tucked into the hillside, each with a little garden in front of it. At a distance, all looked ordered and peaceful—perhaps too ordered and peaceful, for there were no people about.
As Augusta turned to take the steep main street, her worst fears were confirmed. Doors hung off hinges, glass glittered on the cobbles, broken chairs and furniture lay upended, along with chests broken open, their contents strewn in the mud. The wind had dropped. The air hardly stirred. The deadly quiet was only interrupted by the caw of crows and carrion birds gathering on the roofs and in the branches of the trees.
They dismounted. Augusta called Keeper to her. He followed close at her heels, his ears back, as if he didn’t like what had happened any more than she did. They went from house to house. All seemed deserted, until they reached the green space that marked the centre of the village. Cows cropped the grass, ducks swam on the pond and a row of bodies, hands tied, lay crumpled against a wall pocked with bullet holes and stained with blood.
Augusta walked over to them, unable to hide her tears.
“These were my friends,” she said. “My neighbours.”
She knelt down and whispered to Keeper. Whatever happened, she would not put him in danger. She had a good idea who had done this to her people and he was probably up at the house—her house. He’d enjoy using it as a command post for him and his officers, eating her food, drinking her wine. He would like as not kill the dog for spite. Keeper looked at her, whining his reluctance.
“Go on. Go on!”
The dog loped away. He would not go far but he knew to stay out of sight. When she was sure he’d gone, she strode off.
Tom followed her towards a pair of tall grit-stone pillars, the gateway to a handsome house that stood above the village. Solid and stone built, it nestled into the side of the hill as though it was part of the landscape.
“What have we here?” A soldier stepped out. He wore sergeant’s stripes but he was bareheaded, his uniform unbuttoned and dirty, and he was more than a little drunk. “A pretty girl and a pretty boy. Dressed in strange fashion. What are we to do with you?”
He looked to a group of soldiers who were lounging nearby, passing a bottle between them. They grinned in anticipation of sport to come.
“Take me to whoever is in command here.” Augusta stared back at him, arms folded. She would not be intimidated.
“Ooh.” The sergeant looked to his comrades. “She likes to boss, eh? Likes to give orders? We’ll see about that.”
He reached a hand towards her but Tom stepped between them.
“Don’t you touch her.”
“Yours, is she?” The sergeant shoved Tom out of the way. “Well, she’s mine now.”
“Save some for us!” One of the soldiers pushed himself off the wall and came towards them.
“There’ll be plenty.” The sergeant’s hand went to his belt buckle. “Keep an eye on t’other ’un while I’m about my business.”
A man stuck a pistol in Tom’s back. “What you going to do with ’em after?”
“Put ’em in the barn with the rest of ’em. Set fire to it before we open the doors, then when they come running out—shoot ’em like rats. We’ll have some fun first, though. You see if we don’t!”