Lord Tor stalked the woods with his shotgun, and longed for a life he had never known. A mere child when his father had been killed and the war lost in that final, decisive battle, he was now 19 years old – a grown man – and ready to reclaim his world. A world where Britain’s glorious navy still ruled the seas, and India was her plaything; a world where one need not swear allegiance to the Kaiser and read the Luther Bible in Sunday school…

He detected movement and aimed his gun; a rabbit shrieked as he shot it. Approaching, he saw that the bloodied thing was still alive and whistled unthinkingly for Kipper – only to feel tears pricking his eyes as he remembered.

It was all West’s fault, of course, that traitor, like all his kind. Even his mother.

German-loving whore, he thought, feeling rage seeth inside.

The sky darkened; a great flock of birds launched, screaming, from the trees. The woods seemed suddenly full of uniformed men, running towards him. He felt the revolver in his hand, aimed and fired…