Avarice Desperation Valley Book 1

Trial by Steel

On the outside none would suspect his fear shrouded in a mask of stony faced resolve, as he sat in his cell staring at nothing. There were times he even wished he had never seen this city, to be lured by its prizes, and he admonished himself for being fool enough to ever enter its forbidding gates. Still it was done, a thing of the past and he was here in this predicament, but how could it now be undone?

Krosse had not touched him yet, but he had started on the others. Bennett could feel the man's terrible eagerness, and with it came unease. Bennett lord of all he surveyed was acutely unused to this new feeling, knowing it would soon be his time. Time to face what Gareth and Sven already had, time to see what Bennett was truly made of. He prayed he was up to the challenge.

*****

Renard was in a fix, he had dined with Pig and Dwayne that first evening of his return, never suspecting the wine they proffered him was drugged. He had woken much later the next day securely bound hand and foot in the great cave, his head pounding and his senses groggy, whilst he listened to the two nervous men argue just what it was they should do with him, but not reaching a decision on the matter.

This worried the usually cool headed, fast thinking Renard. Nervous men were unpredictable men. He had never trusted Dwayne or Pig to do what was sensible or right, and he reasoned his life hung on a hair trigger whilst they fretted and argued about what to do with him. Renard tried to convince them that their fears were unfounded, he was no spy checking on their management of the camp for their leader. However they remained unconvinced Renard's appearance here was innocent of this motive.

Many days he had passed in this way, with each one Renard was sure it would be his last. It was uncomfortable to be thus tied for this duration, but he could not escape. Either Pig or the lanky Dwayne would watch him day and night. His lot was to lie in the dust at the rear of the cave shivering through the small hours, being fed at intervals by Sarah who in his filthy state did not even recognize him for the Renard she once knew of almost three years past. He was grateful she did not, the poor lass a mere shadow of the happy carefree girl he knew from better days, and he fretted he was running out of time. His objective seemed further away than ever.

*****

Will and his party constructed a makeshift stretcher for the ailing Aran. During the ensuing days they painstakingly carried him home over the rough inhospitable terrain, employing some old straight, steel poles which the four men were lucky enough to salvage from a ruined settlement. The possibility of finding wood that large or strong here was a rarity, so they were pleased with this find. They then lashed it all together with strips of green leather which they wet and dried in the sun so it would tighten on to the frame forming a very durable stretcher. After this was done they draped some strong goat hides across this ingenious framework. Progress was slow, but the four able bodied survivors were in high spirits, after all they were alive and going home.

In spite of this they ran scared. At night they camped under the stars leaving at first light. Sometimes they had plentiful game and water, sometimes they did not, sleeping on growling bellies. All the while casting their anxious eyes over their shoulders, fearing being followed, and hoping to sight more stragglers from Bennett's thoroughly demoralized army. As the days wore on they saw neither friend nor foe, just the remains of charred settlements and huts, the twisted iron of rusting vehicles, the long defiled barricades, and the crumbling, bleached bones of the silent dead.

The grievously wounded Aran fought for his life, he would not lay down and die just yet. He was deathly ill though, and for the most part delusional. Aran was running a high fever and the wound in his sword arm was suppurating evil smelling pus. Will was worried, but he had done the best he could for Sven's brother with very limited resources. He had sewn the wound partially closed with Aran's own hair and a sharp piece of bone which he had boiled fearing infection. All he could do now was wait and keep it as clean as he could. Time would have to decide the rest.