Morris Tyrell almost dragged Shanks out of the building and yelled for horses. "Where are we going?" asked the scientist, almost more scared of the intelligence man than the approaching danger.

"For now, just away from here. Away from the Radiants."

"What about Andrea?"

"We'll get her out as well. Right now, I just want to keep you safe." He turned to the nearest soldier. "Get spotters up on every building. I went to know where they are, how far away they are. Where they're going!" The man saluted and ran off to obey.

"They're coming from the east," said the intelligence man. "Carrow's coming from the west, so they'll be expecting us to go either south or north..."

"North, then," said Shanks. "To Erestin. That was the whole point in putting us this close to the border, right?"

"We stay in Helberion. You're a national asset, our best hope against the Radiants. We're not giving you to another country, especially one that Carrow might have influence over."

"I thought Erestin was our friend!"

"That was then. This is now. You stay in Helberion."

"So south then."

"Not due south. Never follow a predictable path. We go south west, to Tobford. There's an army base there. We can get you an armed escort back to Marboll, or wherever the King's governing from. Bringing you all the way out here was a mistake, we can see that now. You should never have left the capital."

"I thought Tobford was under attack."

"We fought them back for the time being. They're regrouping for another assault. If we move fast, we can get in, secure an armed escort for you and McCrea, and get out again before Carrow closes in."

"Won't they need all their men to defend the town?"

"The only reason we're defending the town is to defend you. Once you're out of here they can fall back, meet up with the main force of the army."

"Shit!" Shanks felt a huge weight of responsibility suddenly settling on him. The whole kingdom, depending on him and Andrea? And she was still unconscious, the last he'd heard. He'd heard that coma patients sometimes never woke up. If necessary, can I do it alone? he wondered. Can I create the device by myself? More to the point, could he do it in time? If he had years then there was no question. He'd get it sooner or later, it was just a matter of trial and error, but they needed it now! Could he create the weapon in time to make a difference? Could he justify all the people who were fighting and dying to give him the chance?

There was a strong gale blowing. It was coming from the east, he realised. Blowing the Radiants on their way towards him. How long until they got here? A soldier arrived with two horses and Morris Tyrell gestured for Shanks to climb up onto one. "Go to the south gate," he told him. "I'll meet up with you there." He slapped the horse on the rump and it jumped into a gallop.

☆☆☆

Morris Tyrell watched him go, then mounted the other horse and rode it to the civic building. He dashed in, to the room the army had taken over as a command post, where a young lieutenant was looking over the shoulder of a private sitting at a desk, jotting notes on a sheet of paper. Maps showing the current positions of Carrow and Helberion forces were pinned up on walls, half covering posters telling how to apply for housing benefit and invalidity support, a mocking reminder of the more peaceful days that had so recently ended.

Seeing him, the lieutenant came over to meet him. "Latest word is that the Radiants are five miles away," he said. "They're spreading out to north and south to surround the town. Also, all the Radiants that were with the Carrow forces have disengaged from them and are approaching the town from the west."

Tyrell swore. "How far?"

"Two miles, but the wind's against them. They appear to be propelling themselves by venting gases. I'm hoping that means they'll be weaker when they get here." Another door opened on the other side of the room and a messenger dashed in to join a group of analysts huddled around a table. The lieutenant glanced over at them, then returned his attention to the intelligence man.

"We have to make them think the scientists are here, in this building," said Tyrell, "so you'll defend it with everything we've got. What have we got?"

"Twenty incendiary rounds. They're the only thing guaranteed to stop a Radiant. Some of the men have armed themselves with bows and fire arrows. What good they'll do..."

"Spread the incendiary rounds out. One each to your twenty best shots, and make sure they aim for their gas sacks. They don't know how few rounds we've got. If we can make them hang back, that gives the scientists more time to get away."

"Yes, Sir. We'll give a good account of ourselves, Sir."

"I know you will."

He looked across at the analysts, some of whom he was pretty sure hadn't been declared human yet. How many of them had still been chewing the cud less than ten years ago? "Evacuate all the non combat people," he said. "Tell them to scatter into the countryside and hide. If they do figure out we've left, they'll have more people to search through to find us. Maybe some of them will even escape. Will the Radiants take the time to chase down every last one of them, do you think?"

"I've got no idea, Sir. We've never seen them do anything like this before."

"No." He tried to think of something else to say. Some final goodbye to someone who was almost certainly about to sacrifice his life, as well as all the men under his command, so that one man, a civilian, could escape. Anything he said would probably be taken as patronising, bordering on offensive, though. The best, most complimentary farewell he could give, he decided, was to just take his sacrifice as granted, as if it was just a normal part of his job. He was a soldier, after all, and he himself was prepared to make the same sacrifice, if necessary. The good of the Kingdom came first, and right now Thomas Shanks was more important to the Kingdom than either of them.

"Those Above be with you, Lieutenant," he simply said, therefore.

"And with you, Sir."

The man saluted proudly, then spun on his heel and went over to where the newly arrived messenger was still delivering his report to the analysts. Tyrell watched him go, a lump in his throat, then left the room and went back to where he'd left his horse.

He found the scientist waiting for him at the south gate, through which the town's civilian population was pouring, then scattering into the countryside, some with wagons on which all their earthly goods were piled. He found Andrea McCrea on a stretcher being gently loaded into a covered wagon by a pair of burly hospital orderlies while Shanks watched, his hands twisting together with anxiety. When she was safely aboard the scientist climbed up to sit beside her, talking to her and holding her hand. Another man in a white coat was standing nearby, Doctor Ashley. The man he'd spoken to earlier. Tyrell pulled his horse up alongside him. "Any change?" he asked.

"None, and I'm growing increasingly concerned. The longer she stays in the coma, the less chance she'll come out of it. Her injuries are healing nicely, but there's clearly been some damage to her brain."

"How bad? Will she still be able to function as a scientist?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Okay. Do what you can for her, and get out of those hospital clothes. You'll find farmers smocks for yourself and your staff in the gatehouse." He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to the nearest of the six horsemen who would be accompanying them, then turned to their Corporal. "All ready to move out?"

"Just waiting for you, Sir."

"Let's go, then. One thing first, Corporal. If we can't save them both, if we have to choose between Shanks and McCrea, we save Shanks. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir..."

"No!" shouted Shanks, jumping down from the wagon and running over. "We save Andrea! She's the important one..."

"She's nothing more than dead weight so long as she's unconscious. Right now, you can build the machine. She can't."

"She'll wake up! She just needs time!"

"I hope so as much as you do, but the good of the Kingdom comes first. Get back on your horse. If anything happens, just ride for Marboll as fast as you can. And avoid any Carrow troops."

The scientist glared at him, then turned to where he'd left his horse and climbed onto it. Tyrell turned back to the Corporal. "The most important thing is to get that man to Marboll. If we have to abandon the woman, tie him up if necessary." The Corporal nodded and turned to pass the order on to his men.

Tyrell looked up into the sky. Still no sight of Radiants, but they could be coming into sight at any moment. They had no time to lose. He glanced back at the gatehouse and saw the hospital staff running back with dirty smocks in their hands. He gestured for them to get into the wagon. They could change on the way. "Let's go!" he shouted. "Clear the way!"

The gatekeepers ushered the civilians out of the way, some of them snapping angrily but too scared to make much of a protest. As soon as the gap was wide enough one of the cavalrymen spurred his horse into a gallop and shot out along the road, raising a cloud of dust in his wake. The wagon driver then gave a slap of the reins to get his horses moving, accompanied by the six cavalrymen, none of whom seemed happy at the idea of abandoning their comrades. They knew the necessity, though. There could be isolated squads of Carrow soldiers roaming the countryside. It would do the scientists no good to escape the Radiants only to be captured by a single Carrow private with a rifle.

The moment they were all through the gates the civilians were allowed to resume their exodus, a huge crowd of innocents within which the scientists and their escort would hopefully be able to hide. Tyrell looked back once, at the men who would be remaining behind; the men on lookout on the wooden walls and the tallest buildings, shading their eyes with their hands as they scanned the bright sky for the first sight of the enemy. He also gave one last thought to the men he couldn't see; the men defending the civic building and preparing to sell their lives as dearly as possible. One day, there will be a statue here, in your honour, he promised himself. You will not be forgotten. Then he forced his mind to the business at hand; the road ahead.