Nights of Villjamur lotrs-1

by Mark Charan Newton

  'Times will be very difficult, commander, and of course many may not survive. We don't even know the potential extent of the icecap. But it is possible that people will indeed survive, and safeguarding those islands would guarantee them the best possible chance of survival after the ice retreats.'

  *

  Chancellor Urtica had donated a few luxuries and a considerable sum of money for the brief journey – all of ten Jamuns' worth of the latter, broken into smaller coin: Sota, Lordil, Drakar. Brynd couldn't help feeling a bit suspicious, but accepted these supplies courteously. Perhaps he is just trying to make me feel better after losing so many of my troops.

  They set off out into the cold grey morning.

  Two pterodettes arced in the sky, their shrill cries penetrating the quiet of the city. Behind them they left the ringing of the hours for morning worship, the smell of breakfasts from assorted dining halls.

  Waiting at the front entrance to Balmacara were the four men he had chosen. Standing by their immaculately prepared horses, patiently waiting to leave. Staring up at the sky, Apium was sitting on a black gelding alongside a vast, gleaming carriage which the new Empress would travel in. The other three Night Guard soldiers, none of whom had been at Daluk Point, were talking together quietly: fit, young, ideal for such a casual expedition. The two blond men were Sen and Lupus, twenty-six and twenty-two years old respectively. They could have been brothers, both lean, both tall. Both with those cutting blue eyes. Something almost wolf-like about their appearance. They had risen dramatically through the army because of their talent, and they respected Brynd above all others. Brynd valued Sen particularly since the lad was easily the best swordsman he had ever trained. He constantly worked on developing his skills, so Brynd would lay money on him being the finest swordsman in the Empire within a year or two.

  Nelum Valore, a heavily built black-haired man, was a little older. Should have become one of the Imperial academics, but he preferred life outside of musky chambers. Said what you could learn from books could be learned from the real world too. Brynd admired that quality, and made him one of the youngest lieutenants ever serving in the Night Guard. The man rarely discussed his Jorsalir beliefs, either, and the commander didn't know what to make of his dedication to gods he couldn't see.

  These four were the best of the remaining regiment. In full uniform, black on black, the seven-pointed star glistening on their chests, they stood to attention, each with his left hand resting across his stomach.

  'Sele of Jamur,' Brynd greeted them. 'We all set to go?'

  'Yes, sir,' Sen replied for them. 'All weaponry's been fixed to the carriage and we've got our rations inside. Lupus arranged for the vehicle to be thoroughly cleaned overnight, so it'll be good enough for whoever it is intended.' This last statement hung in the air, hoping for an answer.

  Brynd peered underneath the carriage to confirm four crossbows and four spears were fixed to the base between the axles. Short-handle axes were there too, and none of those extra weapons could easily be seen, being a useful addition to the sword and bow each man would carry. Having the benefit of young eyesight, Lupus was a highly skilled archer, while Apium and Nelum used their mature strength for axe work, but knew their way around a sword as well.

  'Good. I've requested for a garuda to track us in the skies – to scout around also, so that we don't get surprised again. So you know in advance, while we're away, the Council will make an announcement revealing that Emperor Johynn has died, and that his elder daughter, the Lady Rika, will become ruler of the Jamur territories. Villjamur will be officially in a state of mourning until our return.'

  'With the new Empress, I take it?' Nelum tapped the side of the carriage with his palm.

  Brynd nodded. 'Yes, we're collecting her from Southfjords. She knows we're coming to meet her, but not that her father's dead.'

  'Whose job is it to deliver the news?' Sen said.

  'That honour appears to be mine,' Brynd said grimly.

  'I've heard she never liked him that much anyway,' Nelum muttered.

  'Meanwhile…' Brynd faced each of them in turn, 'no flirting, no smiling – in fact, no talking to her, unless I say so. Just remember, she's your new ruler. You serve her loyally. We're her guard.'

  They nodded in confirmation.

  'Just us five going?' Nelum enquired.

  'No point drawing too much attention to our departure. It'd alert too many people that something was up. We won't get any trouble going to Southfjords, so no need to waste extra men. There aren't enough of us Night Guardsmen left, anyway. I'll have to recruit more after we return.'

  Silence passed as they reflected on dead comrades.

  'Right,' Brynd continued, 'we've a longship waiting for us at Gish, and that's where we ride first. It'll take the best part of two days, so let's get going.'

  They all mounted their horses.

  'You're very quiet today,' Brynd remarked to Apium. The redhead was clutching at his stomach.

  'Aye. Seems that I can no longer handle a bit of lager like I used to.'

  *

  In the centre of the Atrium, Chancellor Urtica stood before the assembled Council. He flicked back his grey cloak dramatically, looking around with a falsely solemn expression. If he wanted to initiate a combat situation, he would have to be at his most persuasive, most charming. The reactions of the other members were uniformly glum.

  'Fellow councillors,' he began, 'I've only this morning had a private meeting with Commander Brynd Lathraea of the Night Guard. He has informed me that he strongly suspects the Varltung islanders as being responsible for the surprise slaughter of his men.'

  Urtica produced the arrow that Brynd had given him earlier, passing it to the nearest councillor to hand around the chamber for inspection.

  'Somehow these wretched people have found out about our secret mission to secure more firegrain, and are now planning to make sure we crumble before the Freeze properly settles in.'

  There was a murmur throughout the chamber, and someone spoke up, 'Are you quite certain this is from Varltung?'

  'Indeed, the armoury will take a look to make sure, but we're confident it's from Varltung. They clearly knew of our plans and consequently destroyed some of our best regiment.'

  'But they're merely barbarians,' Councillor Mewun protested. 'How could they do this?'

  Urtica's voice became bolder, a well-rehearsed ploy on his part. He felt it important to inject some drama into these meetings. 'I strongly recommend that we act on this outrage promptly. We should send a naval assault to seize the entire island and disable it, and take their resources. Who knows what they will be capable of later, whilst our city gates are closed?'

  'Should the new Empress not decide this?' Urtica couldn't see who spoke.

  Silence, for several heartbeats. 'She'll have many other concerns once she arrives, and I don't think she is capable of conducting a military operation yet.'

  'I'm not certain we should consider going to war on such little evidence. How can you launch an attack without more definite proof?' It was Councillor Yiak, a chubby woman that Urtica had never liked much.

  'We do have evidence,' Urtica said. 'But I can tell you need further encouragement on the issue. This is about defence of our Empire, about protecting it against crimes such as that perpetrated at Daluk Point. I suggest we should have another debate this very evening, following the evening prayer bell.'

  Urtica was delighted as the motion was carried overwhelmingly.

  Councillor Boll then stood up, his skinny frame barely noticeable. His manner was nervous, his voice uncertain. 'Um, I'd like to announce briefly that we've had an approach from the Inquisition concerning the recent murder of our fellow councillor, Delamonde Rubus Ghuda. They would like to come into the Atrium itself to discuss the case.'

  'Indeed,' Urtica replied. 'But I'd recommend they come when we're not in session, and instead interview us one by one in our private quarters.'

  They all voiced their agreement, becaus
e Ghuda was a popular man, would be missed by all, and the sooner they reached the solving of his murder, the better. No one felt this more than Urtica. They shared the ideal that the city should be rid of the scum of refugees, that they presented the danger of disease and discontent. Urtica would endorse everything it took to find who had disposed of his ally.

  *

  A few hours outside of Villjamur, on the road to Gish, Brynd caught a glimpse of a curiously caparisoned horse being ridden through a clearing in the betula woodland ahead. They had come off the main road some time ago, preferring instead to follow one of the smaller gravel tracks that ran along the coast. They had avoided the villages and hamlets of Eelu, Fue and Goule. He thought it best that as few people as possible were aware of their movements.

  He could tell that the horse was from one of the famous gangs, but he wondered which one. He always found the gatherings of these horse gangs to be a wonderful sight, and he halted his men with a gesture, interested to see if they were racing today.

  'What's up?' Apium said, following his gaze to the trees.

  'Only a gang rider,' Brynd replied. 'Might take a look to make sure. Let's pause here for a quarter of an hour.'

  The gap through the larix led him onto an open expanse of tundra, where two horse gangs were currently assembled. There were mainly men as the lead riders, but some girls rode alongside, all dressing their horses similarly to whichever group they favoured. Many wore leather, even daggers, since this was about raw masculine pride: young people dressed up with nowhere to go. Such gangs would gather on exposed areas of tundra to race one another, or just to hang out, drinking alcohol away from the eyes of parents or city guards, and at night they would lie with each other indiscriminately. During races money would change hands as the onlookers gambled on the winners, and rags of different colours were attached to the horses' legs or tails in a code Brynd didn't understand. Tribal tokens were fixed to the reins, personalizing the horse as far as possible, in mimicry of the military cadres of the Empire.

  Behind the rival groups lay a flat dark plain, under a drizzle-filled sky, with the smell of forests and of salt wafting from the sea to the south. For a short while they would be happy enough here, all the cares and impending changes now forgotten. Two young men presently lined up their horses, paused, then belted across the horizon, the others cheering on in feral calls.

  The sight of such carefree enthusiasm made Brynd feel he was getting old. He had youthful dreams once, which seemed to be travelling further and further out of his reach. Perhaps he should stay out of Villjamur when the gates would be shut for all those years…

  The garuda suddenly landed next to him. Brynd didn't even flinch. He had spotted the creature hovering overhead only moments before.

  With a chalk-white face offset by golden plumage, and large wings now tucked neatly behind his back, the garuda stood nearly six feet tall. He was wearing black breeches, with nothing covering his upper torso, revealing ferocious muscles beneath the downy feathers of his chest. Tied to the garuda's waist was a belt with two long sheathed daggers. The creatures were always an amazing sight. They now primarily inhabited several towering cliff faces at the Fugul Colonies on the island of Kullrun, which was sealed off as a military training ground. There, over a thousand of them lived in caves. They had been an essential part of the Imperial armies for thousands of years. Although communicating with each other through shrill bird calls, they used sign language to interact with humans or rumel. How and when it had come about was anyone's guess, but such communication was essential to their joint campaigns.

  'Sele of Jamur, wing commander,' Brynd said.

  The bird-man, Wing Commander Vish, then raised his arms to sign, Why have you stopped?

  'We're only stopping to rest the horses. Did you spot anything on the way here?'

  Just more refugees approaching the Sanctuary Road. There are probably at least a thousand camped outside the city now.

  'As many as that.' Brynd shook his head. 'What'll you yourself do – during this Freeze?'

  The wing commander eyed him expressionlessly, then signed, What do you mean?

  'I mean, when the ice comes so densely that people are sealed in. That's not so far off now. You're intending to stay in Villjamur, right, for all those years? What're you going to do there?'

  Just because the gates are closed, doesn't mean I can't fly. I can still serve the military, serve the Empire. You appear rather philosophical today, commander.

  'I guess the Emperor's death will bring about changes for the city. Maybe I should be thinking of a change myself.'

  Maybe you have never quite felt a part of things in Villjamur. I always thought you were too self-conscious about the colour of your skin.

  Brynd looked away as if to cut him off. 'Well, if that's the case I've picked the wrong career.' He wasn't aware garudas could be so perceptive. 'I'm just getting old.' Brynd laughed. 'Perhaps I've started thinking about myself too much.'

  Then you'd be the same as the rest of your race.

  'Come on. Let's get something to eat.'

  *

  Chancellor Urtica strode through the armoury as if he owned the place, yet was almost knocked back by the change in temperature. Rows of men drenched in sweat were working at benches. They looked up to inspect the intruder, their white eyes startling against dust-smeared skin. In the background, a huge furnace burned violently, producing a heady smell. Everywhere, the clunk clunk clunk of metal being beaten and contorted into shape.

  'Can I help you, chancellor?' A short, stout man, blond hair, wearing a short-sleeved black tunic and black breeches. His arms, shimmering with sweat, were totally smooth because continual exposure to the flames had burned away all the hairs. This was the Chief of Defence for Villjamur – in reality, a retired soldier who still directed the smiths according to battle orders.

  'Indeed you can, Fentuk, my dear fellow,' Urtica replied, smiling around at the other workers, who glared back sceptically. 'Walk out with me, if you please, so that we're not heard.'

  'Sounds important,' Fentuk muttered.

  Urtica led Fentuk out of the building and over a darkened bridge nearby, where you could look directly across the roofs of Villjamur.

  It was approaching dusk, a carnelian sky. House lanterns scattered throughout the city seemed to mirror the stars. The twin moons Bohr and Astrid hung on opposite sides of the sky, giving a brilliant light that seemed to catch all the spires and bridges in an ethereal glow. Some distance below them, a horse was being led along a dully lit street, its hooves clopping loudly on the stone. There was a flash of magic. A door opened and closed, chattering of women heard in-between, and there was a lute playing sevenths in some tavern nearby, a dreary tune accompanied by an off-key singer.

  One of those perfect Villjamur nights.

  'So, Chancellor Urtica, what've you brought me here for?'

  'Insurance.' Urtica leaned against the parapet of the bridge. The wind ruffled his cloak and he shivered. 'One can never be too certain who's listening in, these days.'

  'Listening in?'

  'Listening in.' Urtica reached under his cloak, produced the arrow. 'I urgently need to know where this came from.'

  Fentuk took it, examined it closely. 'Hard to tell in this light.' He rolled it between his fingers, lifted it this way and that. 'Well, it ain't Jamur,' he continued. 'Not from any of the islands to the west or south. My guess would be Varltung, but I can't be certain. Made very poorly, you see. Could also be Maour, Dockull or even Hulrr.' The man pursed his lips thinly. 'Why? Where d'you get it?'

  Urtica clicked his tongue against his teeth. 'It was found in the corpse of a Night Guard soldier. The commander suspects it was a Varltung ambush. I was hoping to get your confirmation, to support the case for a campaign against that nation, before the Freeze sets in.'

  'Oh, well, I… I couldn't say for sure it's from Varltung, no.'

  'Are you certain you can't be sure? We need to strike back against the Varltungs b
efore it's too late.' The chancellor waved his hands in the air to stress the point.

  'No,' Fentuk said. 'I really can't be sure, not if it could mean war. Not on my word. Is this all the evidence you have?'

  'We've more,' Urtica said. A lie, of course, and he didn't think twice about saying it.

  'I can't help you in this case, chancellor. I'm sorry.' He handed the arrow back to Urtica, who concealed it beneath his cloak again. 'Was that everything?' Fentuk said, running his hand through his hair. 'I have to be getting back now.'

  'No, there was something else – something much more important.' Urtica looked around the parapet. He stepped in closer to Fentuk. 'I must whisper this.

  'I can offer you a substantial sum of money to make sure that you never have to step foot in that rancid armoury again – we're talking safe accounts and country estates. All you have to do is confirm for me that this arrow came from a Varltung bow, and back me up officially if I wanted to initiate an order of war. You could do that for me, couldn't you, Fentuk?'

  The chief of defence was solemn as he clasped the parapet. 'I… I really don't know.'

  Urtica placed an arm around him. 'I wouldn't like to say what might happen otherwise. I mean, there are some prominent pro-military Council members with significant investments in armoury and ores – and in times of war their incomes and influence are known to rise hugely. Should they be denied this opportunity – and your name will be thrown about the Atrium – well, I have heard tell of punishment beatings for this sort of thing in the past. Such stories…' He shook his head and sighed for effect.

  A moment later, as if ordered, a banshee began keening in the distance, somewhere possibly Caveside. As time passed, Fentuk was visibly shaken by this potential premonition. 'How much money are we talking about exactly?' he muttered eventually.

  Urtica smiled. 'That's the spirit, Fentuk. You won't regret this. You should maybe join me for drinks sometime, socially.'

  *

  Brynd had ordered his men to set up camp for the night on the edge of a copse of trees seven hours' ride further on from the hamlet of Goule, and just past the Bria Haugr, a conical hill that was reputed to be an ancient Azimuth burial mound. The surrounding fagus would provide them with some concealment.