“We did it, Bill!” said Field Marshall Amberley excitedly, crashing into the committee room and making everyone look up in surprise. “We got ‘em all!”

“The Carrow army?” said King Leothan, a smile bursting across his face. Around the table, the other members of the advisory committee also looked delighted and the business of the allocation of the city's resources was temporarily forgotten.

“All of them, except for a handful who headed for the hills. The majority were killed in the trenches. Most of the rest were in confusion and offered virtually no resistance when our boys went out to round them up. We have five thousand prisoners, we're taking them to Stormwell, the sports stadium. It's the only enclosed space big enough for that many people!”

“Good job, George! Bloody good job!” Leothan jumped up from his chair, ignoring a couple of inventory reports that he knocked onto the floor in the process, and grabbed him by the arms, almost laughing with pleasure and relief. “This time they don't escape. If the Radiants try to spring them, kill them. No-one can condemn us for killing prisoners trying to escape. Make sure the guards are clear that they know what to do. Kill them rather than let them get away. If I'd had the guts to give that order last time, this whole nightmare might have been avoided.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Bill! No-one could have predicted they'd find a way to bring artillery into the country.”

“I’m the King, George. It's on me.” Then he brightened, though. “Do we have enough of an army left to patrol the countryside, find the ones who got away?”

“I'm already on it. They won't get far.”

“Good. No telling what kind of mischief they might get up to. Nilon doesn't know yet?”

“No. Their telegraph line was cut when we blew the trenches up. Our line to Charnox is still intact, but we haven't used it yet. He won't find out until word reaches him via the civilian grapevine. Unfortunately, the people of the city are already celebrating and spreading the news across the country. There’s nothing we can do about that, but I reckon we’ve got a week or so.”

“Good. No telling how he might react, what he might do to Ardria. Have we heard anything about how she’s getting on over there?”

“All we have is what the Carrow propaganda machine is putting out. They're saying she’s been taken to the palace in chains. The chains part may be true, Nilon won’t miss a chance to score a propaganda coup like that, but Ardria's a strong girl. A pair of manacles won't bother her much. She's where she wants to be, she’ll have had a chance to speak directly to Nilon by now. We have to hope that the King was duped and that she and Darniss can make him see sense.”

“And if Nilon’s thrown his lot in with the Radiants, if he knows exactly what they’re doing and is behind them one hundred percent? How do we get her out?”

“The Brigadier's over there. He'll do something.”

Leothan nodded. “Yes, we must place our faith in the Brigadier. He'll do something. In the meantime... I'm going to speak to Nilon by telegraph. Try to negotiate with him as if his army's still out there, as if I'm still willing to surrender, for the right terms. That gives him a reason to keep Ardria alive, gives the Brigadier time to do something.” He excused himself to the committee members, then left the room, heading for the new telegraph room that had been set up in the Ministry Building.

☆☆☆

Princess Ardria was strumming a lyre in the west courtyard when the guard came to summon her. The lyre was a good one, a Polansky if she was any judge, worth at least a hundred thousand Helberion crowns, and it produced a crystal clear note that delighted her as she played one of her favourite tunes on it. The Raising of Malarta, a tune from an opera by Desperona the Younger. Leona was sitting in another chair facing her, her foot tapping to the rhythm and a smile on her face, and that made Ardria smile in return, despite her situation. A person enjoying her music always made her feel good. Only the Radiant floating almost directly above her, dark against the bright, sunlit sky, darkened her mood, but she did her best to ignore it.

“Do you play?” she asked when she came to the end of the piece.

“Not the lyre, Highness. I used to play the harpett a little, before I came to work at the palace.”

“Do you still play it?” asked the Princess, her smile widening.

“Sometimes.”

“Go get it. We'll play a duet. Do you know ‘Lord Dulhurst’s Lament’?”

“That was one of my favourite pieces! I can't right now, though. I have duties.”

“You have to guard me.”

The maid looked embarrassed. “Yes, Highness. Perhaps another time.”

“Another time,” agreed the Princess. She strummed the strings thoughtfully. “Will you miss it? When you're a Radiant, I mean. Will you miss playing music?”

“I'm sure they have their own forms of recreation and relaxation, Highness. Things we can’t imagine. Things that make playing music seem trivial and simple.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know, Highness. I'd have to ask it.” She nodded up at the Radiant floating above them.

“Ask it then.”

The maid looked thoughtful for a moment. “He says their forms of recreation are mostly intellectual. Solving mathematical theorems, logic problems. That sort of thing. Contemplating the solution to an intricate mathematical theorem gives them the same pleasure and satisfaction as listening to a piece of music does to us.”

“Fascinating!” said The Princess. “I'm curious, though. Why didn't you know until just now? Why didn't you ask it before? You're going to be a Radiant one day. Aren't you curious about what it'll be like?”

“I know it'll be wonderful! Far better than being human.”

“Forgive me, but that sounds a little vague. Aren’t you curious about the details? About how it'll be better?”

“I'm told it's impossible for a human to comprehend it. We have to wait to experience it for ourselves.”

“Has anyone not thought it was better? Has anyone ever been raised to Radiant and then regretted it, wished they were human again?”

There was another pause. “Never, Highness.”

“The reason I ask... I was raised from a Kestrel. Sometimes I have dreams, dreams of being able to fly. Dreams of soaring high above the ground, the wind under my wings... A sense of exhilaration as I dive towards the ground, faster and faster. I wonder sometimes, is it just a dream, or am I actually remembering being a Kestrel?”

“You miss being able to fly?”

“If it's like my dreams, yes. Sometimes.”

“The Radiant says it may be a real memory, but that you’re experiencing it with a human intellect. It says that the Kestrel you used to be was incapable of appreciating the experience the way a human could, if it could fly. It says that's what it's like being a Radiant. Mathematical puzzles may not seem much fun to you now, or to me if I'm honest, but that's because we lack a Radiant’s intellect. We can't imagine the joy and satisfaction that lie ahead of us after we’ve been raised.”

Ardria nodded thoughtfully and started playing a new tune, The Bee and the Butterfly. Half way through it the door opened and the guard came in. She continued playing as the guard strode across the polished granite paving slabs towards her, past the tubs containing decorative plants and the formal pond containing golden fish that came to the surface to beg for food as he strode past. “King Nilon demands your presence!” he stated as he came to stand before her. Ardria continued playing, though, continuing to the end of the musical phrase before stopping and looking innocently up at him. “I'm sorry, I was a million miles away. What did you say?”

“King Nilon demands your presence in the telegraph room,” said the guard, and Ardria almost dropped the lyre in excitement. She caught it by the neck just in time to prevent it suffering expensive damage on the ground. “He wants me to talk to my father!” she said, jumping up from the chair.

“He awaits you even now, Your Highness. No doubt with growing impatience.”

“Yes, yes, of course! We mustn't keep the King waiting!” She hurried towards the entrance the guard had come in through, and the guard had to almost run to keep up with her.

The room had been cleared of its usual operators and now contained only King Nilon and another of the adopted guards who was sitting in the operator's chair, no doubt being tutored on how to use the machine by the Radiant he was in telepathic contact with. “Ah, my dear Ardria!” said Nilon, grinning broadly. “Your father is on the line. He wants to make sure you're safe. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell him how well we've been looking after you.”

“I’d be delighted!” said the Princess, taking a seat next to the operator. The man handed her the notebook on which he'd written down the conversation so far, and Ardria scanned her eyes across it. Leothan was willing to surrender, she read. Marboll was coming under fire from Carrow artillery. The wall was close to being breached. Leothan was willing to fight street to street, taking many Carrow lives, if a deal could not be reached. A deal that guaranteed his safety and that of his family, but first he had to know if his daughter was still alive. The last message was a request from King Nilon that Leothan wait while they fetched her.

“Okay,” said Nilon, looking at her. “Send him a message. Something personal so that he knows it’s really you.”

“Aren't you afraid we might be sending coded messages to each other?”

Nilon laughed. “Send all the coded messages you like! My army surrounds him. They may be in the streets of the city already. He only has one choice to make. Whether to surrender now with some measure of dignity or hide somewhere like a toad in a hole until my men ferret him out.”

“You have a point,” said Ardria drily. She picked up a pencil and wrote on the pad. ‘This is Princess Ardria. I am safe and well. I’ve been told that everyone who came with me from Marboll is dead. The day I was confirmed human, you told me how much I reminded you of your mother. You said we had the same eyes. Please do the right thing. I love you.’ She handed the pad to the operator, who showed it to the King for his approval. He read it, nodded, and the operator began tapping it out on the telegraph machine.

“By ‘do the right thing,’ I assume you mean that he should surrender himself to my troops,” said Nilon with a small smile.

“No,” replied Ardria. “I meant that he should escape from the city, remain at large and raise support for an uprising against you. He’ll know that.”

Nilon nodded. Then he took the pad, wrote something else on it and handed it back to the operator. “When you've finished, send this,” he said. The operator nodded without pausing in his work. Ardria leaned over to read what he'd written. ‘You will allow General Holden or, if he is dead, whoever is in charge of the army attacking your city, access to your telegraph machine so that he can give me a report on the current situation there. If you do not, one of my wizards will curse your daughter half way back to her animal form.’

“You don't have your own telegraph connection?” she asked.

“It was lost a little while ago. A lucky shell strike, no doubt.”

“What about the Radiants? Can't they tell you what’s going on over there with their telepathy?”

“Telepathy only has a range of a few hundred yards. We would need a daisy chain of Radiants stretched between here and Marboll. About twenty thousand of them. You know this. You used to have telepathy.”

Ardria nodded. “I’ve tried to block out the memory.” The guard who had escorted her there, meanwhile, moved closer to her and reached out to take her hand. She shied away from him, breathing heavily with fear, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. He then took her hand in an unbreakable grip, his fingers hot, dry and rough will callouses. Panic rose in the Princess, but then it subsided and she felt a warm peace descending on her. He's parent bonding me, she thought, and there was no fear in the thought. Just a calm acceptance. He’s making himself love me. He could bless me now if he wanted, send me back on the road to demoncy, or throw me back down the rungs of life. All on the merest whim.

They stood there like that as the telegraph operator continued sending the message, and then a longer time passed as they waited for a reply. Finally, the machine began clacking and the operator began writing it down, one letter at a time. “We will comply, so long as you guarantee that no harm is done to my daughter,” said Nilon at last, reading from the pad. “It will take time to bring the General here. We will have to arrange a ceasefire, then send a messenger. It may take several hours.”

Nilon looked at the clock on the wall. It was nine fifteen in the morning. It would be around half past ten in Marboll. He wrote another message on the note pad and handed it to the operator. ‘You have six hours before we curse your daughter half way back. If you have not surrendered by dawn tomorrow, we will curse her the rest of the way back.’ He then gestured to the guard, who released Ardria’s hand. The fear returned in a rush as the parent bond was broken, making her stagger back, gasping, close to panic. An impulse almost made her bolt for the door, to just run, all pride and dignity forgotten. It took a tremendous effort of will to overcome it. There was no safety out there. There was no escape. She felt her heart hammering in her chest, knew there was the wild look of a trapped animal in her eyes. She forced herself to look at the King, to meet his unsympathetic gaze, except that, to her surprise, there was sympathy there, and a look of admiration, as if he knew the courage and strength it had taken to remain in control of herself. Then he nodded to her, the acknowledgement of an equal. “A Princess indeed,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“We're done here for now,” he then said. “Return the Princess to her quarters, and let me know the moment we get any word from Marboll.” Both the guards nodded, and then the Princess walked in stately dignity to the door before the guard had an excuse to lay a hand on her again.

☆☆☆

King Leothan stared at the telegraph machine as if it was a mad dog that had just bitten him. “There are going to be code words,” he said. “So they know they really are talking to the people they think they are. I don't suppose their CO was among the prisoners we took.”

“I’ll check,” said Amberley, “But I don't think we’re going to be that lucky. And even if we are, it'll probably take a lot longer than six hours to get the codes out of him.”

“So the moment we start talking, they’re going to know I'm not the Carrow General.” He looked up at the clock. “That means the Brigadier's got six hours to rescue her.”

“He doesn’t know there’s a deadline. We don't even know if he’s in the city at all!”

“We know he wasn't with her when she entered the city. He wasn't killed with the rest of her escort.” He picked up the notepad the telegraph operator had recorded the conversation on, read back what Ardria had said to him. “Everyone who came with me from Marboll is dead,” he read back. “She's telling us the Brigadier's not dead, and he won't need a deadline. He’ll want to get her out of there as quickly as possible! He may already be on his way to her.”

Amberley knew that it was a father's love and fear for his daughter that was talking, so he said nothing to contradict him. When the King had a chance to stop and think he’d realise what a long shot it was. “I'll go take a look at the prisoners,” he said. “You never know, we might have gotten lucky.” The King nodded and he turned to go.

The Field Marshall stopped as a messenger appeared in the doorway, dressed in a travelstained cavalry uniform. Two members of the palace guard were with him, they must have cleared the way for his rapid passage to the King. “Your Majesty,” he said breathlessly. “I bring word from Telleridge watching post. There are Radiants on their way here, to Marboll. Hundreds of them.”

“So, it’s happening,” said Amberley. “What we've been waiting for all this time.”

“They were hoping the Carrowmen would destroy the city for them,” agreed the King. “Why risk their own lives when they can get humans to die for them? How did they find out so fast?”

“One of the Radiants with the Carrow army was seen departing eastwards immediately after we blew up the trenches. It was going fast, on a gale of its own creation. The Radiants must have had a force assembled just east of Telleridge, just in case.”

“How the hell didn’t we know about It? Hundreds of Radiants in a great crowd up in the sky...”

“It's been overcast for the past few days. The clouds must have hidden them.”

The messenger nodded. “The winds they summoned tore the cloud cover apart. We saw them, high up on the sky. So high they looked like stars! So many of them!”

Leothan nodded, running his hand through his hair. “How long ‘til they get here?”

“Sire, I rode as hard as I could, but they summoned a gale to blow them along. They must be just hours behind me.”

“How are we with the incendiary ammunition?” he asked Amberley.

“Still a few days yet before they start running off the assembly lines. They hit the mine, as we expected. They never suspected it was a decoy, that we were putting our main effort elsewhere, but even so...”

Leothan nodded. “And the scientists? Their electric messiah?”

“Last time I checked up on them they were still getting nowhere. Sire, we have no way to defend ourselves against the Radiants!”

The King paced across the room, his head bowed. Their moment of victory had been so brief! It wasn't fair! He caught himself angrily. Life wasn't fair! He was the King! That meant it was his job to deal with whatever the world threw at his kingdom, no matter how unfair it might be! He got a grip on himself and turned to face the Field Marshall. “At least we got most of the civilians out. There’s that. How long would it take to get everyone else out?”

“With respect, Majesty, I don't think that would be a good idea,” said Amberley, though. “It's not the city they want, it’s us, the people. If we try to evacuate, they'll chase us down across country. We've got a better chance here. We've got cover here. Buildings and tunnels we can hide in.”

Leothan nodded. “You're right, and we know they can be killed. We need fire, lots of it. How many of those ballistae do we still have?”

“Not enough, but we'll deploy those we have. I'll put them inside the entrances to buildings, where they can't drop things on them. They'll be able to protect the people hiding behind them. I suggest Marboll Tower. It's by far the strongest building in the city.”

“Agreed,” said Leothan. Marboll Tower had been a fortress back in pre-industrial times, before the rest of the city had grown up around it. Every wall was ten feet of soIid stone, and the ceilings between levels were scarcely thinner. It had been designed to defend against catapults throwing boulders. The Radiants wouldn’t be able to tear their way through the roof, as they had in less solidly constructed buildings. The only way in would be through the entrances, where the ballistae would be. “Pull everyone back to the tower. Everyone in the city! We'll make our last stand there.”

“What about the Carrow prisoners?”

Leothan cursed, he'd forgotten about them. “Barricade them in the stadium. Barricades it'll take them a couple of hours to get through. Demolish part of the building, perhaps. Block the exits with rubble. Keep them under guard until the very last minute, then pull the guards back to the tower. I'm guessing the Radiants won't be too discriminating about who's Helberian and who's Carrow, and even if they are, they’ve got no way to give them orders without an adoptee to translate. I'm guessing they'll just kill every human they come across.”

Amberley nodded. “Let the Radiants dirty their hands killing helpless prisoners. I like it!” He bowed to the King, then turned and left the room at a brisk march.

“Okay, you men,” Leothan then said to the telegraph operators. “You heard the plan. Get to the tower.” He then turned to Darnell. “Spread the word to everyone in the city. Retreat to Marboll Tower.” The man bowed, then sent his two runners off to obey.

Darnell himself remained with the King as he also left, heading for the Ministry Building to get his wife and children.

☆☆☆

“We're pulling out!” said a loud, commanding voice. “Everyone goes to Marboll Tower!”

Shanks turned to see a new soldier standing in the lab’s doorway, gesturing impatiently for everyone to leave the room. The guards obeyed without question, all except the one left to watch over the prisoner. “What about him?” he asked. The prisoner also looked up curiously, but then a wide grin burst across his face. “They're coming!” he said in delight. “I can hear them in my head! The Radiants are coming!” The guards stared in alarm and moved faster, almost running, while the prisoner laughed in triumph.

Andrea and Shanks looked at each other in alarm. “We can't leave!” said the head scientist. “This might be it! The breakthrough!”

“And it might be another dead end,” replied one of the soldiers, Private Todd. The one they'd gotten to know the best. He was quite chatty, it turned out, and liked to come over and engage them in conversation while they were working. “How many times have you said that? That this might be it, the breakthrough? And it never is! Comes on, let's get out of here!”

The two scientists glanced at each other again, trying to read each other’s faces, trying to see how brave the other was. “You go,” said Andrea at last. “I'll finish this, turn it on, just to see...”

“No way!” replied Shanks. “If you stay, I stay!”

“Neither of you are staying,” said the new arrival. He strode over and grabbed each of them by an arm, pulling them towards the door. “Get to the tower...”

While everyone’s attention was on the tussle between the soldier and the scientists, the prisoner reached down and gave a hard yank on the chain holding him to the wall, pulling it out from where he'd loosened the cement holding the end in place. The guard closest to him spun around in alarm, reaching for the gun at his hip, and the prisoner swung the chain at him hard. It wrapped itself around his neck, making him cry out, and the prisoner jumped forward, pulling the man's gun from its holster. The other guards, pausing in the doorway at the sound of the tussle, went for their guns, but the prisoner turned his stolen gun on them and fired several shots, the detonations echoing like thunder from the stone walls and floor. Two of the guards went down straight away. The third, Todd, fired two shots back, but the prisoner was using the body of his first victim as a shield and the man cried out as the bullets tore into him. The prisoner then fired again and Todd went down, a neat little hole in his tunic above the heart and a geyser of blood erupting from his back.

The soldier who'd been manhandling the scientists had also drawn his pistol, but he didn't run directly towards the prisoner. He didn't want the prisoner hitting the scientists as he shot back at him. He ran obliquely as he fired, therefore, one bullet hitting the prisoner in the luminous green arm, another piercing him in the belly through his thin, cotton vest. His finger tightened on the trigger one last time before he died, though, and a bullet took off the top of the soldier's head. The bullet then continued on, hitting the apparatus the scientists had been working on. There was a spark as metal hit metal and a whine as the bullet ricocheted across the room, hitting the far wall before falling to the floor, finally spent.

The two scientists stared at the scene of slaughter with shocked horror. “Those Above!” gasped Shanks, his eyes staring. “Those Above! Those Above! Those Above...”

“Shanks!” snapped Andrea. “Get a grip! See if anyone’s still alive!” She cautiously approached the prisoner, who was still holding the stolen gun in his dead hand. She reached down to pick it up, then threw it across the room. The glow of his skin was already fading, she saw. Soon, it would begin to turn slightly transparent as the flesh prepared to break up into globs, each one wriggling off in search of a damp spot where it could make a new life at the very bottom of the ladder of life. That was how all life ended, unless the very cells were killed by fire or poison. All life except Shanks, she thought, turning back to look at her subordinate where he was stooping to examine the guards. He would just rot when he died. There was no chance that any part of him would ever be human again. What would that be like? she wondered. What would that knowledge do to someone?

“They're all d-dead,” said Shanks, trembling, standing again and staring around at the corpses. “They're all dead! All dead...”

Andrea went over to him and took hold of his arms, squeezing gently. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Were you hurt?”

He shook his head. “You?”

“I'm fine.” She then turned to examine the apparatus. The bullet had bit one of the coils, severing several copper wires, and then torn through ones of the cooling pipes, which was dribbling water. “Let's get this fixed.”

“What about them?” cried Shanks a little hysterically.

“Forget about them. They're dead.”

“We've got to tell someone!”

“Everyone’s busy. They've got their jobs, we’ve got ours.”

“We can't just leave them lying there!”

“Drag them out into the corridor, then. Then get back and help me with this. We haven’t got much time...”

“Men are dead!” cried Shanks in outrage. “And you're worried about...”

“You heard him!” said Andrea angrily, “They're on the way! Radiants! A lot more people are going to die unless we get this thing working! I'm sorry they’re dead but we’ve got to get our priorities right! The King's depending on us! So do what you've got to do, drag the bodies out into the corridor, say a few words over them if you want, and then get your arse back here and help me fix this thing!”

Shanks stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded and went to grab the shoulders of the nearest man.