Free Web of Fire Bind-up by Steve Voake

Odoursin continued to build up his forces in Vermia. Firebrand had always known that Odoursin was ambitious and hungry for power. But he had still believed that Odoursin was on the side of good, right up until that terrible night when he had betrayed them all, tipped over the brink into madness by the loss of his brother.
    Intelligence sources showed he was now developing a new and deadly weapon that he wouldn’t hesitate to use against the people of Earth. And that, of course, would only be the beginning.
    Power without wisdom is the path of destruction…
    Firebrand stared at the Foundation Stone, illuminated by the coloured light from the three moons that hung above the treetops. He had come here this evening with a mind full of doubts, his faith shaken by setbacks and betrayal. But as he touched the ancient stone and remembered his father’s words, he felt his faith returning. Whatever happened, he had to believe that the origins of the prophecy lay rooted in the goodness of the past; that these difficult times were simply stepping stones out of the darkness.
    Removing his hands from the stone, Firebrand thrust them into the pockets of his overcoat and looked up into the night sky. There had been no word for three days. The signs were not good. But then of course, he reminded himself, Skipper was highly trained in covert operations of this nature and no one had expected a quick result. He had to push his concerns to one side and believe that she could get the boy out. Failure in this particular mission was not something he would allow himself to think about.
    This time the stakes were too high.

Twelve
    Sam awoke to the sound of shouts, keys rattling in locks and the metal clang of cell doors being flung open. It was still dark and he guessed it must be early morning. Rubbing his eyes, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He could only have been asleep for a few hours and his right side ached from lying on the cold stone.
    A key turned in the lock and his cell door swung open. A guard stood silhouetted in the doorway with a long black baton in one hand. He pointed it at Sam.
    â€˜Get up!’ he shouted.
    Sam put a hand on the wall and levered himself to his feet. ‘Where am I going?’ he asked.
    â€˜Just move out, prisoner,’ barked the guard, in a tone that suggested it would be unwise to ask any further questions.
    As Sam stepped out of the cell, the guard turned him roughly so that he was facing down the corridor. A line of prisoners stood motionless outside their cells,all dressed in the same grey material and staring straight ahead.
    From behind him came the sound of a little cough, the kind that someone makes when they want to be noticed.
    Sam turned and saw another line of prisoners stretching the other way. But his eyes were drawn to the small figure standing in front of the cell next to his own.
    It was a girl with short, tousled blonde hair the colour of dirty straw. Although only a few inches smaller than Sam, she looked tiny compared to the other prisoners, an impression that was heightened by the fact that her prison uniform was at least three sizes too big. Despite having managed to roll up the legs and sleeves, she still looked as if she was trying to fight her way out of a large tent.
    But what struck Sam most about her were her sparkling blue eyes. They shimmered with light, like the surface of the ocean on a summer’s morning, and, for the first time since arriving in this terrible place, he felt the loneliness begin to drain out of him.
    The girl brought her hand up in front of her chest and gave him the tiniest of waves. ‘Hello, Sam.’ She smiled warmly at him.
    â€˜Hello, Skipper,’ Sam replied. He was about to smile back when a sharp blow in his stomach doubled him over and left him gasping for air.
    â€˜Eyes front, prisoner!’ yelled the guard, jabbing him again with the heavy baton. He grabbed Sam by the front of his uniform and slammed