There was a resounding knock on the heavy metal door. Krosse was reclined in his favorite leather chair enjoying his pipe and ruminating over his day's work, leather-bound medical journal in hand, pondering over how he might up the ante tomorrow? Victor needed results whatever they revealed, his Lord's patience was running thin. Though the Doctor was a realist and was pretty sure that after all this time the beautiful woman of Lothar's betrothal bargain would not be so beautiful, or virginal, possibly not even breathing.

Dropping the volume to the shining mahogany side table with a thud, and carefully setting down his pipe he strode toward the door angrily, resenting being disturbed. This had better be important, Krosse thought, ready to verbally abuse the source of the interruption. He could hear the sounds of his bath being drawn in the adjacent room and glared angrily at the unfortunate soldier who stood uncertainly, framed in the doorway. Strict military protocols were observed here, the uniformed soldier saluting his superior in fine German style.

"Sir, I must report to you the captives have escaped."

Victor's expression hardened, his blue eyes betraying no hint of inner dread he felt at this news. The alarms then sounded and Krosse dismissed the man who followed with yet another salute and departed swiftly to other duties.

Victor stood a moment in the corridor, door ajar to his inner private world watching the soldier depart. He slammed the door closed locking it with a loud thunk, not bothering to inform his slave of the sudden happenings.

He told her nothing of his life or his inner self. She was naught more than a pretty animal to him. He owed her no explanation of his actions or desires, coming and going as he pleased. She must meekly compliment them, or feel the pain of his displeasure. She was as all things in his private domain a comfortable convenience that he owned and did not share with others.

*****

The elaborate and sizable apartments of Lord Lothar's adjoined his own, and it was only moments before he was admitted to the doorway flanked by guards. They too saluted their commanding officer as he passed by, Krosse barely paid them any mind. His boots crushed the soft carpet underfoot as he strode the hallway lined with priceless oil paintings in gilded frames. Marble busts of gods, and great generals on their stone plinths stood to either side, they watched mutely through their ivory perfection admonishing him. Krosse paused briefly before his favorite one in the collection, his truest hero Adolph Hitler, saluting him in his mind. The one man he could respect, the one man he would emulate.

Entering the great dining room he found his Lord seated and waiting, the vast table set in fine silver and crystal, but strangely devoid of the evening repast. Even here the wails of sirens permeated.

"My Lord," Krosse said reverentially.

Bowing from the waist in a very shallow bow, barely a bow at all. Lothar was slow to respond folding the heavy cloth napkin in tighter and tighter triangles before him until he could fold it no further. Krosse was patient, he was used to his Lord's eccentric little behaviors that had become most irritating to him since his accident.

"Yes, Victor?" Lothar finally responded looking up.

"It appears my Lord the prisoners have escaped. I have as of yet not investigated the entirety of the report as I have just myself been informed of this, and came to report to you immediately."

Lothar's dull brown eyes revealed no vestige of readable emotion watching his second in command, the napkin had fallen into his lap, unfurling slowly like the petals of an ivory rosebud, quite forgotten.

Krosse continued, offering as consolation, and smug in the knowledge he as always held the reins on this man. "We will recapture them swiftly. They cannot possibly get far as they were all injured, one of them was in no condition to even walk..."

" I SUGGEST YOU FIND THEM!" Lothar expostulated as the room exploded in a shower of shattered crystal and flying silverware.

The ever-cool Victor Krosse flinched a little but made every attempt to conceal his surprise at his Lord's vile-tempered outburst, standing firm, as the rain of debris and eating utensils fell to the floor, their sound absorbed by the plush carpets.

"Yes, my Lord I shall do it immediately."

He bowed to formally close the unpleasant summons and turned sharply on his heel, crushing broken crystal into the rug, having no wish to spend another moment of his time in the company of his Lord. Reminding himself he would have to up his charge's medication this evening as this was becoming an all too commonplace event.

Soldiers were running everywhere, the fortress was in a tumult of frenzied activity. Victor headed swiftly for the prison to be greeted by the grisly sight of the two unfortunate soldiers in the hallway, their necks neatly slit. It was obvious to the Doctor the men were taken by such surprise they had no time to struggle let alone raise any kind of alarm.

Entering into the prison proper Krosse was then treated to the vision of Captain Harris, the bleeding heart, hardly one of his favorite personages here. Bloodless and in his undergarments, long dead on the floor near his station. The upturned wine glass still survived on the tabletop, its caustic contents had eaten into the wood. Krosse put his black-gloved hand to his chin as he surveyed the aftermath of the escape, this had to have been the work of that mute boy for sure. It was all coming together in his mind, the boy's involvement would also explain the delay in the evening meal. A fleeting smile he allowed himself with the thought of the possible fate of that grotesque travesty of nature, Robbie Coltraine.

The stark steel cells all stood open, mocking him, naught left there but a pile of soiled blue blankets. The only evidence his captives had ever existed. He fingered the taser in his coat pocket, it was a comforting friend. Victor was furious to be made a fool of by nothing more than a mute boy and a group of savages. He would have his revenge, he swore under his breath, even this outburst of profanity tightly controlled, departing from the cell block in a flurry of his black leather trench coat.

*****

The wind was blustery and decidedly cold, pushing the spent leaves in flurries across the courtyard. All work and schooling had been suspended today as the farming settlement's two-hundred-and-fifty-strong population turned out to hear their beloved leader's address to his people.

It was a rare event indeed, all were curious as to what this portended. Stephan was a man of few words, he did not make many announcements of a public nature, ruling this place with a quiet love and respect, and few edicts. The benevolent, wizened, father of his people, respected and so very adored.

The assembled crowd did not have long to wait, the distinguished man appearing before them dressed in a cream-colored, hand-spun, warm woolen robe, like some biblical hero. He walked with a measured step to the center of the gathering, and the mass of humanity parted respectfully. His wife Anna was behind him, aging too, though still slender and tall, her short-cropped white hair framing her high cheek-boned beauty.

Stephan stopped, taking in his people, resting on his well-worn staff, robe billowing in the wind. Dark clouds rushed overhead with great swiftness, threatening rain and bringing an ominousness to this gathering. The much-revered man appeared to have aged greatly in the past few months, the loss of his beloved children a hard cross to carry. The people were unnerved by this, like a close-knit pack of wolves sensing the time was at hand for a new leader to emerge, yet not at all wanting to let go of this noble man who had led them so wisely and well through such difficult years.

The white-haired leader had garnered prosperity from disaster, young and old alike all lived lives free of hunger, and want. Violence had been kept to an almost nonexistent minimum. There was a comfortable place for all here, and what was more important, Stephan had offered to each inhabitant a future. All the work of this great man and his relentless bargaining and parrying behind the scenes to ensure peace and goodwill for all his citizens.

"I thank you all for turning out today my good people."

There was a loud murmur of heartfelt appreciation from the assembled crowd. Apart from the smallest children of which there were many, the entire focus was on him. Stephan took them all in, his children were they not? In many ways just as much so as his own flesh and blood. The comparison almost tripped him and it took longer to resume his address than he would have liked. He coughed and continued, finding his words.

"I know there has been much talk amongst you all since the attack of Lord Lothar, and much unease. It has affected us all. I have not been idle all this time, and I have been dwelling on how best to maintain the ideals and the prosperity of our community. As you are all aware for many years we have bought a fairly amicable truce with the war-like settlement to the south."

He mouthed his sentiment to these words, though in his own heart sacrificing their only daughter to that truce had been a most difficult price to pay for this leader, but he had done it nonetheless, the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, if only it did not have to be so...

He took a brief pause and a deep breath repositioning his weight on his staff and continued.

"However it would seem that as time has progressed The Wolf Lord has become less and less satisfied with our offerings and his increasing demands have brought this community close to hardship." Stephan surveyed all assembled taking in every man, woman, and child before resuming. "......and this I cannot allow!" His voice rose even against the mounting wind.

Stephan's people were moved to see the spirit was still strong, Anna behind her husband smiling as she heard his passion.

"To that end, I believe that to blindly honor the treaty we have with the Wolf Lord would be most wrong."

Much hubbub broke out as he voiced this. The silver-haired patriarch had to speak much louder still to be heard over the din, there were some clear comments of dissension. Stephan took note of those who seemed most displeased for later reference and pushed on.

"Lord Lothar has blatantly violated any agreement we have struck in the past. I no longer believe we can trust him to conduct himself with any honor. I also do not believe it to be in our best interests to provide an enemy with supplies that will only bolster their strength to ultimately be used against us. We may be simple farmers, but we will not become the Wolf Lord's slaves!"

The gathering murmured loudly, some alarmed, but many Stephan could see were already set to back him. This was all the affirmation he needed. Still, one older man stepped forward, Stephan wise as he was, was expecting some opposition, his people were not creatures of war. The man George Hanson was well known to him and considered one of the village elders, even a friend. He ran a very productive patch of farmland down near the river, no one could dispute his high standing in the community.

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"We risk too much, this is madness!" George said somewhat hotly. "We cannot hope to prevail. We have no army, weapons, or defenses, our sons will die in senseless war, our work here will be destroyed and our daughters taken, and for what? All because we decided not to give things which we have in abundance to keep the peace?"

There was a lull in the crowd, but most did not share George's sentiments, Stephan had already lost both his son and daughter, and as of yet, there had been no war. The majority of the assembled folk were clearly behind their leader.

"You are wrong George," Stephan overrode him. "That man is no longer content to keep the peace, everyone here has seen that. We do not even know if he is still alive. Perhaps someone even more warlike has succeeded him? What then?..." His voice trailed off into the wind. The thought had been sown in the crowd like ripe wheat in fertile soil. Stephan could see he was winning.

"Without the goods we provide our adversary will be weakened and less likely to be any kind of real threat to us. We must have courage in our convictions. It will not be easy, at least in the beginning. We can expect retaliation, and I will not lie, lives will most certainly be lost, and property destroyed. We have built much here, forged a good life for our children out of this chaos, we owe it to them, and we owe it to ourselves."

In a further demonstration of his meaning, he took hold of a little girl who was playing close by. She smiled as he lifted her up for all to see, cradling her in his arm, cherubic innocence, glowing cheeks, bright eyes, and curly brown hair further moved the crowd.

"But if we are to enjoy and maintain this standard of life, sometimes we have to fight for what we believe is right, and for the principles we hold sacred."

The crowd responded with a resounding cheer, Stephan knew he had their hearts and trust, and the responsibility was again with him to win.

Anna watched her husband of many years with great pride, as his voice grew, finding some deep reserve within. Never had she loved him more than she did now, never had she felt so much pride to say he is mine, and I am his.

On that day overlooked by troubled skies, tears of the angels fell on barren dry ground. The farming settlement had forever altered its destiny. Men and women young and old alike had taken it upon themselves to wage war if need be. These people who had no warriors in their midst, but a cause of such conviction and love which overrode all. Warriors they would become, and a fortress they would build if that's what it took to preserve all they held dear.

Stephan sat in his library later that evening, he was not reading but merely reflecting on his impassioned address to his people that day. The wind was whipping the leafless branches against the window panes, and the rain was falling heavily, flooding the courtyard below. The aging man was not cold, basking in such inner warmth at the love he felt this day from his good people. It had been a difficult inner struggle to make that speech today, having to wrestle aside his own selfish agendas. With it any hope of possibly seeing either of his children alive again. To be of pure heart was indeed a difficult path to tread.

*****

The fugitives were not located, even the hounds they had dispatched had not overturned any trace of their quarry. It appeared the prisoners had vanished into the desert without a trace. The wind which had been blowing from the southwest for days had eased a little, though it was still bitingly cold.

The rains that had cleansed the dust from the steel parapets had dwindled to occasional light showers, drifting across the windswept landscape in waves. To this gray backdrop of early winter, Mrs. Evelyn Harris stood shivering on the edge of the wet, freshly dug red earth, dressed in a black sundress complete with a veil. Her brassy blonde hair escaped the gauzy confines of the fabric. She was flanked by her three children, two boys the eldest of ten, and the youngest of six, and a little girl of only three. The black-clad woman was weeping unashamedly as they lowered Captain Harris into the grave, her boys solemn fighting tears, the little girl fidgeting, too young to be aware of the death of her father and the hardship the family now faced.

Victor Krosse had turned out to witness the burials on the behest of his Lord, along with a detachment of his men, looking like a flock of black ravens all dressed in their military finery to pay tribute to the dead. His clean-cut face was buried in the high collar of his leather trench coat evading the chill wind, and as always passionless as he oversaw the proceedings.

There were three others to bury this day besides the Captain in this small bleak cemetery that stood just outside perpetually in the shade of the city walls. Rarely did the sunshine on this place, its pitiful markers jutting up from the red earth like rows of broken teeth. This last resting place for the most part neglected and overgrown with salt bush and prickly grasses, framed by a dilapidated wall all but buried in the restless sands.

After the solemn ceremony for the Captain was concluded the two unfortunate soldiers were laid to rest attended by their bevy of family and friends. Lastly the cook Robbie Coltraine. Not a single person was present at his graveside to mourn his passing. Interred to the earth, as alone in death as he was in life.

*****

The first rains signaled to the farming community they could begin planting, that was a good omen. The season promised to be a bountiful one. The early winter crops like onions and peas were being sown in earnest. Pastures were lush by the river and the livestock sleek. The settlement was a hive of activity as every able-bodied individual did their part. This location had not been founded with defense in mind. Folly perhaps, but whether by fortune or divine design, this idyllic site had remained mostly untouched, a sequestered, forgotten oasis. It was a daunting undertaking, there was much to fortify and ready, and very few on hand with the expertise needed. The spirit of the majority in the community was willing, allowing barricades to be built, weapons to be manufactured, soldiers trained, and of course, the ever-important crops planted. They would be ready for the first show of violence. They would prevail.

Yet even here there were a few who thought otherwise and sought to undermine the war effort. Stephan and those closest to him glimpsed this unwelcome specter daily in many forms. In a furtive whisper or thinly veiled action of someone in the street. In meaningful glances at meetings in the town square, or even those held in his own home. George Hanson had rallied a few to his side openly opposing any act of war, mostly those who were so afraid of conflict they wished nothing to do with it. It was not a situation Stephan relished dealing with, but conversely, the wise leader had advised those few most trusted, to be on watch at all times.

*****

Victor Krosse had been in a quandary. He had lost great face since the escape of his valuable prisoners, though his demeanor would never show it. None before had ever freed themselves from the hopeless incarceration of his steel prison. It was unthinkable that anyone had, and a direct blow to his prowess. The weeks after the bold escape attempt had been the most difficult for the Doctor. Still, he did not have the liberty to hide in his sanctum or to think anything but decisive thoughts.

This shrewd man set about enacting any method he could use to gain his advantage using all his subtle guile. Victor had changed the doses and the medicines he had been administering to his Lord, to make the obdurate man more malleable. This had been working well.

Despite this he was still agitated and worry wore at him, Victor told no one his thoughts, not even his pretty slave. He knew he could never openly rule here, the dark Doctor was very disliked and only tolerated because his Lord was still very much respected and openly protected him. Victor's only route was the one he had already taken, like a parasite on its host, he must keep Lothar very much alive, ply him with medications, and rule with the crippled man as his puppet. It was the only method open to him.

There were other pressing issues as well. The last tithe had failed to arrive from Stephan's settlement fueling further unrest and tension in the fortress. Was it a simple oversight or a delay, or was it something more sinister? Food had never been an issue here, there were warehouses full of dehydrated stores gathered before the conflict still to be consumed.

Even if they had not been needed, the last six years of the treaty in place with the farm community to the northeast had ensured there was plenty of fresh produce for all. The agreement had always been honored in a timely fashion, Krosse sensed a rat. Renard must have warned his father instead of locating the girl. They had been a fool to let him go. Krosse had advised as much. Stephan's son would have been far more use to them as a hostage. If the treaty had been violated punitive action must be undertaken soon.

Then there was the delicate matter of Lothar's loss. So to kill two birds with one stone Krosse with Lothar's 'blessing' formulated heavily armored death squads. For this dubious duty, Krosse hand-picked the hardest and cruelest of his men, even in this civilization there were many suitable for the task. The hand-picked squads were instructed to raid the small settlements that still existed further south. In the majority, they were easy pickings and offered little real resistance. They took anything of value, rounded up the attractive young females, and promptly slaughtered the rest of the unfortunates.

The confiscated goods boosted the fortresses' already well-stocked inventory. The frightened women were herded before Lothar like cattle at the market, there were many comely ones, but still under the spell of Frances' ethereal beauty, Lothar rejected them all, sentencing them to live their lives as slaves, or become property of the single men. Though a few were fortunate and made happy marriages.

In this current climate, Victor Krosse was becoming an increasingly overworked and desperate man, navigating all the recent demands on him had become most taxing. The commander had no option but to keep up appearances, embracing his military hero's strength with every fiber of his being in this difficult time.