“Wake up, men! Out of your bunks! Sun’s up! We’ll make Manolia in two hours!”

Ryn opened his eyes to the grubby underside of the bunk above him which he saw through the visor of the helmet he was wearing. It took him a few moments to remember that he was posing as an Imperial soldier on a train bound for Manolia. In the instant after he registered all this, he realised he had slept without having a nightmare for the first time in many days.

“Come on, up you get, maggots!” yelled the man outside again, outside their own compartment door now, banging on it so that it rattled noisily.

Hold on a moment, thought Ryn. I recognise that voice. Deep. Commanding. Superior.

Ryn got up and opened the door.

The General stood in his black armour, his flame-red hair on display, his gauntleted hand still suspended in the air from knocking on their door.

He hadn’t needed to have a nightmare in his sleep. His nightmare had come to his waking day.

Ryn just stood staring at him for a moment in surprise.

Vorr raised an eyebrow in brazen nonchalance. “Good to see you up already, soldier.” A pause. “What is it? What do you want?”

Hot fury filled Ryn’s lungs. “To see you dead!” he shouted, and punched the general in the face.

Vorr staggered back and crashed into the wall behind him, clutching his nose. He was so big the whole carriage shook.

At the same moment Ryn became aware of what he had done, he also became aware that he didn’t care. He had acted purely on impulse, and blown their cover. But it didn’t matter. This was the reason he was on this journey. To find this man. To kill this man. No matter what Nuthea says about forgiveness...

Vorr was upright again, his hand away from his face. He had the beginnings of a bruise coming through under his eye, but no burn marks. Ryn’s hand had lit on fire when he had punched the general, but that hadn’t done anything. That’s right. He’s immune to fire.

The general stared at him, apoplectic. “Dissenter! Treachery!”

Ryn drew his sword and leapt at Vorr, swinging it wildly at his head.

Vorr got his arm up and the sword smashed into the black metal plate of the man’s armour, sending painful reverberations down Ryn’s arms.

Undeterred, Ryn drew back and threw strike after strike at the general, trying to catch him in the head.

But the huge man was also fast. Again and again, he got his arms up in the way of Ryn’s blows and they deflected uselessly off the black carapace, only making loud clangs and lighting a few sparks off them.

And then Vorr caught Ryn’s hand.

Ryn yelped as pain lanced through his arm. The general twisted it down and around into an odd position. His sword clattered on the ground.

Ryn tried to light another fireball in his left hand, but the pain in his right arm was so great he couldn't focus properly to do it. He just ended up banging his left arm uselessly into Vorr’s side. The general didn’t even seem to notice.

“What are you doing, soldier?” Vorr snarled in Ryn’s face, so close now that Ryn could see the blood-red of his irises. “Are you a dissenter, or just a really terrible assassin?”

There were shouts coming from the compartment behind Ryn but he couldn’t make them out. Footsteps all around too--other soldiers flocking to the general’s side.

Ryn shut his eyes as Vorr shoved the fingers of his free hand into his visor-slit and yanked upwards. The helmet came off Ryn’s head.

Ryn opened his eyes and stared hatred at Vorr’s horrible round face.

“You again!” said Vorr. “The mongrel from Efstan, who turned up in Ast too! You are becoming very irritating. How did you infiltrate this train? Are there others with you?”

Hatred prickled in Ryn’s lungs. The only thing he was afraid of was that he would die now without first being able to take revenge on this man who had killed his parents.

Instead of answering, he spat in Vorr’s face.

Vorr saw it coming, and merely tilted his head to one side so that the globule of saliva went over his shoulder.

“You miserable little piece of poodoo,” said Vorr.

Ryn’s stomach flared with pain and the air rushed out of him. He fell backwards onto the floor as Vorr let go of him and curled up at once. Vorr had punched him hard in the gut. It hurt like all the hells, even through his armour. The general was so strong...

Vorr stood over him and his voice boomed out. “Everyone in this carriage, remove your helmets!”

From his place on the floor Ryn could only see Vorr’s black steel-capped boots, but he grimaced and scrunched his eyes up in expectation all the same. What have I done? I’ve given my friends away, and I didn’t even kill Vorr in the process...

“Come on!” Vorr bellowed into the compartment. “Do it! All of you!”

This is it…

Ryn was expecting a noise of surprise or rage from the general, but none came.

“Good,” said Vorr.

What?

Ryn dared to open his eyes and twist around a bit. Cid and Elrann had taken off their helmets. So had the two soldiers who had shared their compartment the night before. But Nuthea, Sagar and Vish were nowhere to be seen.

“If there are more of them and they are intelligent,” said Vorr, “they will have spread themselves throughout the train to avoid detection. I don’t know why this one gave himself away. I can’t imagine he really thought he could harm me. I am beginning to think he must be soft in the head.”

A tremendous pain bloomed in Ryn’s back and he skidded across the compartment wall, crashing into the far wall. This time Vorr had kicked him across the room. He moaned and lay prone, spasms of pain shooting up and down his spine.

“General, sir?” said one of the soldiers quiveringly. Tilbrook, from last night.

“What?” Vorr growled.

“There were two more soldiers in the compartment with us last night...and they...they never took off their helmets either…”

“WHAT? Why didn’t you challenge them?”

“I...I don’t know, sir… There was a Shadowfinger with them…”

“A Shadowfinger? Which one?”

“Shadowfinger Vish, general…”

Vorr went silent for a moment.

After a while he said, “You,” to someone. “I don’t recognise you. You’re a bit old to be serving with the 66th division, aren’t you?”

“No sir,” said Cid’s voice, remarkably calm. “Name’s Tarn. I’ve seen a good few tours in my time, and I’ve been transfered to the 66th because I wanted to see some more action in this one before I leave service. Beg your pardon, sir, but I’m not that much older than Valun here--”

“Shut up,” said Vorr, “I didn’t ask for your life story. Seargent Dirk!” Vorr called.

Hurried footsteps. “Yes sir?” A new voice.

“There are at least two interlopers aboard this train with bounties on their heads, and Shadowfinger Vish is here too. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I want them all found. Order all units to remove their helmets. I want these vermin rounded up now.”

“Sir yes sir!”

“GO!”

More hurried footsteps, that faded.

“You,” Vorr said to Cid, “with me, now. Bring the mongrel.”

“Yes, sir,” said Cid.

Cid drew his sword and gestured with it for Ryn to follow Vorr. “Walk, scumbag,” he said with convincing animosity, playing his part well. Gods, I hope he is playing a part. All of a sudden Ryn had a flash of doubt as to whether he could really trust Cid or not. Could he really trust any of his traveling companions? But no...Cid had healed him when he had nearly died. Cid had told them an elaborate story about trying to track down the Jewels with other people once before, with too many corroborating details for it be made up. Cid had been training him in swordfighting. Cid was on his side.

Sure enough, as Cid marched him at swordpoint down the length of the train behind Vorr, who bellowed into each compartment they came to for everyone to take their helmets off, at one point he walked a little closer to Ryn and whispered, “Don’t worry; you had a momentary lapse in judgment, but we can get out of this. I’m sure the others will be back for us soon.”

Will they, or will they just leave me for being so stupid? Sagar won’t want to come back for me. Will Nuthea…?

“Just try to stay calm, and don’t say anything. If the general does you any serious damage, I can heal you later.”

Serious damage? What did he mean by that?

Butterflies darted about manically in Ryn’s stomach and he began to tremble.

They went through a door into another carriage.

This one was different, open plan, not separated into compartments, and had red carpet and purple curtains. Inside, a number of the black-armoured soldiers sat on leather cushioned chairs, much more comfortable-looking than the benches in the other carriages. None of these soldiers were wearing their helmets, and they generally looked older--and larger--than the regular soldiers Ryn had encountered. Other officers, Ryn realised. Through the windows on either side of the carriage the landscape of Imfis--was it still Imfis?--streamed by in the brightening morning sunlight, now becoming increasingly hilly and mountainous.

“Ten-SHUN!” Vorr yelled to the assembled officers.

To a man, they all stopped whatever they were doing, shot up out of their seats and snapped into salutes, barely hiding confused frowns.

“At ease,” Vorr said. “Listen closely. I’ve found a rebel infiltrator on this train.” He inclined his head briefly towards Ryn. “He is jewel-touched, but only by the ruby, so he will not be able to hurt any of you. There was a bounty on his head because he challenged me once before in Imfis, and he was working with a Manolian girl and an Imfisi pirate, both jewel-touched too, by lightning and wind respectively.” More frowns rippled across the officers’ faces. “They may be on this train too.” The frowns deepened. “Sergeant Entra!”

“Yes sir!” said one of the nearest officers, snapping out another quick salute. This man had a sadistic glint in his eyes and a thick grey mustache.

“Take Fell and Buntz and search the train. Command all personnel to remove their helmets and join you in the search. The Manolian is undisguisably female. The Imfisi is blind in one eye, and has an air of moronic indolence. If they are on this train, they will not be able to conceal themselves for very long. If anyone runs, you will know you have found them. Bring me them alive, if you can.”

“Yes sir!” Sergeant Entra barked, and hurried off out of the carriage with two other men.

“Shadowfinger Elpis!” said Vorr.

“Yes sir!”

Even amidst his growing terror Ryn’s head rocked back with surprise at hearing the voice of a woman. From near the back of the carriage a figure stepped forward who he had not noticed until now, a figure wrapped all in black as Vish was, only shorter than Vish, and unmistakably a woman from her hips and bust. Her face did not give her away as such because she wore a mask, a mask with a grotesque feminine face painted on it--a wide-smiling caricature of a woman with rosy red cheeks and exaggerated eyelashes on a white enamel backdrop.

“I have been informed that Shadowfinger Vish is aboard this train as well,” Vorr said to the woman. “What he is doing here, I do not know. Find him and liase with him at once to find out what is going on. I suspect that he may have tracked the interlopers here undercover, only I found them first, but I need to be certain. Go now.”

“Yes, General Vorr,” said the woman. She picked up a rolled-up length of chain that had been on the floor next to where she had been sitting and walked out of the carriage the same way the three other officers had. As the Shadowfinger walked past Ryn, the air seemed to grow momentarily colder. A shiver ran up his spine.

That left about seven men in the carriage, looking at Vorr like a litter of nervous puppies.

“The rest of you, while I interrogate this whelp I want you to go over the Manolian invasion plan again and ensure that you have perfectly memorised every detail.” Ryn gulped. “We will no doubt find any remaining interlopers soon, and the operation will go ahead as planned. Be ready.”

“Yes, General Vorr!” the remaining officers chanted as one, giving him yet another flurry of salutes.

“Good,” said Vorr. “Get to it.” He signalled to Cid. “You. With me.”

Cid gently pushed Ryn after Vorr as the two of them followed him down the rest of the length of the carriage and through yet another door. This carriage was plush and comfortable like the previous one, with the same fancy carpet and curtains, but instead of seats or bunks it contained a series of small beds alongside each wall. There was another exit at the far end of this carriage.

As soon as the door had closed behind them Vorr grabbed Ryn by the arm and threw him onto the floor in the middle of the carriage. Ryn stumbled from the force of the throw and went down with a grunt, falling face-down on the carpet. His hand, his head and his back already all ached, but somehow he knew that the worst was yet to come. A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the red carpet beneath him.

“You, soldier, stand guard outside the door,” Vorr said to Cid. “Don’t admit anyone unless they have news of the Shadowfinger or any other rebels being discovered.”

“Yes sir,” Ryn heard Cid say, before the sound of the door clicking open and shut again.

Vorr said nothing for a moment.

Chukkachukkachukkachukkachukka.