Brynd looked around to take in the scene. All around the walls and hanging from the rafters were bipedal structures, things made from junk that looked like immense hanged men. They were metallic and flesh and perhaps even something else, with leathery attire and what looked like massive trays on the floor. ‘By Bohr . . .’
‘Aw, this is nothing,’ came a girl’s voice, a young redhead with a slender frame and freckled face. ‘This is the shit that doesn’t work. We’ve been trying forever to get things to work, but life isn’t that easy to manufacture. Isn’t that right, Diggsy?’
Brynd eyed her and Diggsy. Judging by her look towards the lad, there was a history between them, that much was certain.
Brynd stepped closer to the large trays, which contained weird-looking brown fluids. ‘Could someone bring me a flame over? I’d like to see this as clearly as possible.’
Some of the others laughed.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, chief,’ Diggsy said. ‘Get a flame in that stuff and we’ll all be eating breakfast in another world.’
Brynd soaked up the scene. This building was immense, which meant all these hanging creatures were larger than he originally thought. He stepped back to take in their expressionless faces, if they could be called faces. They were so creased, stitched and folded they seemed as if they were old sacks. Some of them wore open fissures, which had dried to black. They were bizarre specimens. The fact that they were a parody of a human or rumel kept him from believing that this was in any way unethical.
‘Where did you get these from?’ Brynd asked.
‘We made them, of course,’ the red-haired girl said, wandering over. ‘Or resurrected them in many instances.’
Brynd asked for her name.
‘Jeza,’ she replied nonchalantly.
‘Your name was on the letter,’ he said.
She nodded coyly.
‘Presumably you all know me – Commander Brynd Lathraea, leader of the Night Guard? Leader of the military that has applied martial law across the city.’
‘Yeah, we got you,’ someone replied.
He hoped to lend a little gravitas to his presence, but they showed little sign of acknowledging that. ‘Let me get this right in my head: you’re similar to cultists, then? You use the old science in new ways?’
‘More or less, in layman’s terms, though we don’t really like cultists,’ Jeza said. ‘We deal with them, but they’re way too cliquey, and they speak in all these prophetic riddles, it’s ridiculous.’
‘So you use their technology,’ Brynd observed. ‘That is to say, I’m guessing here, this was all done with the assistance of relics.’
‘It was and it wasn’t,’ Jeza said. ‘There’s a whole mix of things – relics mainly, but we use some tribal refinements too, not to mention with palaeomancy you’re dealing with the creations of the natural world itself.’
‘I don’t think the commander needs to know all the details,’ Diggsy interrupted.
‘Sure he does,’ Jeza snapped. ‘Think about it.’
‘What’s wrong with you tonight, Jeza?’ Diggsy said softly.
‘We need him to trust us,’ she replied, then turned to Brynd. He noticed that her face revealed underlying conflicts within her. ‘Isn’t that right, commander?’
‘That depends what you need my trust for.’
Jeza took his arm in an informal manner and directed him along the lines of constructs, through the semi-darkness. Shadows seemed to exaggerate the sinister appeal of these things, but Brynd couldn’t help but wonder what they’d look like on the battlefield.
‘None of these function, right?’ Brynd asked.
‘If you mean move around like a living thing, then only some of them do. We’ve actually got a couple in an adjoining chamber, which are a little more polished, but just take in all of this for a moment. You can see the potential here, can’t you?’
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘But what were you saying about the technology behind them . . . ?’
‘Yes, we work with a mixture of tribal knowledge and cultist science. Cultists haven’t really touched on this stuff – to our knowledge at least. They concentrate on the bits of science and the discipline of technological lore being handed down through the generations. They’re too full of shit to look further afield – you know, the tribes have some pretty powerful stuff, but no one gives them the time of day. They just dismiss it as magic.’
‘You have me intrigued,’ Brynd said.
‘I guess we were all lucky to have Lim.’
‘And who,’ Brynd asked, ‘is Lim?’
Jeza sighed. ‘He died during the fighting. But he was really, really good at this stuff. He came from one of the tribes on Varltung, which is how we got to work in this way.’
‘Off Empire? How did he make it out here?’
‘He ran away, came across on his own, learned the languages, did it all the hard way. They’ve got cultists on Varltung, too – did you know that?’
‘I didn’t,’ Brynd admitted.
‘Well, they have. Anyway, so Lim knew stuff that we didn’t. Spoke Jamur well enough to explain his findings to us.’
Brynd’s interest was most definitely piqued. He would indulge these youths a little longer. ‘You all just meet then. He comes to Villiren—’
‘Because anyone can make a go of things in a place where no one cares,’ Jeza said. ‘No one bothers us. No one pays us attention.’
Brynd nodded for her to go on. ‘You have my attention.’
She looked around at the others who were approaching to hear the conversation.
‘We all found each other, more or less. We’re the kind of people who fell through the gaps – either dead parents or kicked out of home or runaways. Those kind of things make you grow up fast.’
‘You’ve done all right for yourselves by the look of it,’ Brynd said. ‘But I don’t understand how a bunch of street kids could have come across cultist technology.’
Diggsy laughed. One of the others was shaking their head. Jeza said, ‘You don’t know much about cultists, commander.’
‘Excuse me?’ Brynd replied.
‘I mean, you might think they’re all high-powered and respect them and stuff, but . . . what you might not know is that some orders take in kids.’
‘Of course, I’ve heard of such things.’
‘Have you heard of abuse rings? Have you heard of cultists taking in dozens of young children promising to show them all the riches they can imagine, only to lock them in windowless rooms? Bringing them out just to test technology on them, or sexually abuse them.’
A silence fell in which Brynd considered the way Jeza spoke. She seemed totally unmoved by her past.
‘My apologies,’ he said eventually. Tough kids, these ones . . .
‘Ah, think nothing of it, commander,’ Diggsy said. ‘We were the lucky ones. We managed to scrape some knowledge together and get the hell out of there – others are still trapped, being beaten or worse. We got out, we stuck together and used the only thing we had – our knowledge of relics.’
‘Not to mention stealing a load of relics when we ran away,’ Jeza pointed out.
‘True,’ Diggsy smiled faintly, sadly.
There was a charm about these youths that Brynd admired. They’d done things the hard way – there was a lot to be said for that.
‘So tell me the details of what you’ve achieved here,’ Brynd suggested. ‘I want to know what makes your work so special.’
Jeza told him, in approximate terms. Cultists were vague and spoke in heavy jargon, but she explained things in a very simple way. Lim could conduct rituals with relics – remnants of old technology as well as gemstones and tribal accoutrements he had brought with him from Varltung. There were tribes who worshipped such things in distant, remote valleys of that island. And sources of energy were provided to reinvigorate dead ‘cells’ – or make body parts quite literally spark into life. Jeza called it palaeomancy. The others chimed in with colour
and examples to clarify this life science. Brynd concluded he would never fully understand the ways of a cultist.
‘Tell me in plain terms: what can you offer the army?’ Brynd asked.
‘As I indicated in my letter we’re developing things you might be able to use on the battlefield – though these are currently still in development.’
‘I still need to see something.’
Jeza nodded and sauntered off into a dark corner of the room, where she rummaged around on a shelving unit. She returned a moment later clutching a small black item, and handed it over to Brynd, who examined it.
It was the size of a plate, half an inch thick, smooth on one side, and slightly curved. He attempted to bend it, but couldn’t, then tried a little harder – but still did not move it out of shape. ‘What am I looking at here?’ he asked.
‘This is the material we’ve made. It’s strong and durable, and a fraction of the weight of metal, but not at all finished. We can make armour from this material. And we’re nearly there.’
*
A couple of them headed outside to get some more cheap wine they’d been storing in the ice. The rest of the group sat around with Brynd on upturned crates, sipping wine from wooden cups. They offered him one of their many hammocks, but he politely declined.
‘You weren’t involved in the war,’ Brynd said, ‘so what made you contact the authorities now?’
‘Word was that you were looking for new forces,’ Diggsy said. ‘We saw them posters you put up all over the place. I reckon we’re in a position to supply you with some of those forces, depending on what you need.’
‘Yes, of—’
‘It’ll cost you though,’ Jeza replied coolly. ‘We’ve also heard that bankers are looking to give a lot of cash to the army. If we can get a little contribution for working with you, we’ll be happy enough. That could change all our futures. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’
They were young, but definitely not stupid. Brynd took a sip of the wine and winced. One of the girls – Pilli? – chuckled and said something about no one liking their drinks.
‘Of course if you’d rather we sold this stuff elsewhere . . .’ Jeza started.
‘No,’ Brynd replied, ‘that won’t be necessary. We can arrange a contract, I’m sure. But I’ll need to see what you’ve actually got first, and I’ll need guarantees – you see, you’re a lot younger than people I normally deal with.’
‘Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we’re unreliable,’ Diggsy said.
‘I mean, just look at what we’ve achieved so far,’ Jeza said. Then, to Diggsy, ‘I knew no one would take us seriously.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Brynd said. ‘What we’re dealing with here is something quite unnatural and untested, and – to be honest – I have no idea if what you’ve got can be deployed in military use yet. For example, can I make requests?’
‘We can look at that, sure,’ Jeza confirmed. ‘But before we go on, we just want to know you’re interested.’
‘There are many details I wish to mull over,’ Brynd continued, ‘but you should know that yes, I am interested – and I can assure you that money’s not a problem.’
Brynd placed his cup on the floor and stood up. ‘Hopefully then you’ll be able to buy better wine for your guests.’
He offered a smile and extended a hand to Jeza. She looked up at him with amazement, as if she had not expected him to take them seriously at all.
‘Write to me again, but next time I want to see something finished and ready to test.’
She shook his hand. ‘Sure, we’ll have something in a day or so. You won’t regret it.’
As Brynd left with the Dragoon archers, he realized that this was one of the few times in his life when he’d met a group of people who did not appear startled by his skin colour.
SIX
A day later, Brynd rode south on his mare, with Randur Estevu alongside him on a skittish grey colt, which he did not seem able to keep under control.
Late afternoon sunshine was sliding from the sky, leaving an oily residue across the clouds.
The road out of the city was lined with wiry horses and oxen. Bored-looking beasts trudged along the mud-tracks hauling felled trees to the lumber yards or huge chunks of stone for the masons. At this hour, there were dozens of them making their way to the city before the sun set.
‘These are encouraging signs, young Randur,’ Brynd called out, gesturing at the line of traffic. ‘These are the building blocks of the new age. The city will be rebuilt. Life will be restored to what it was. This gives me hope.’
‘Well, not to be annoying about it,’ Randur replied, ‘but anything’s better than the pile of shite that Villiren was a while ago, let’s be honest.’
‘Your mood is still sour, I see.’ Brynd pulled his horse to slow down to a more casual pace, so that he could sip some water and contemplate the gentle flow of people. ‘Any chance it will improve, since we’ve a way to go yet? I would have thought this country air would’ve done a rural fellow like you some good.’
‘Bugger has it done me any good. It’s cold out here, and I’m hungry, if you must know.’
Brynd chuckled and said nothing.
‘What’re you laughing at?’ Randur asked. ‘Do I amuse you somehow? Look, chap, not all of us have had our senses slapped into some new state where we can’t feel anything any more.’
‘A little. You remind me of an old comrade,’ Brynd said. ‘He was a good friend, actually, and he was just as pessimistic as you.’
‘I wasn’t always this bad, you know. Doesn’t seem that long ago that I was chipper and looking around for little but a decent plate of meat or a lady’s sigh. So, what happened to him, your comrade?’
‘He died.’
‘Oh,’ Randur replied. ‘Sorry to hear that. Was he killed in Villiren?’
‘No, he died just before as it happens – we were on our way here, to Villiren,’ Brynd replied. ‘It was our first encounter with the Okun, just an outrider group – a couple of hundred of the Empire’s finest. Got himself fatally injured but that didn’t stop him in his dying moments dragging a pile of relics to collapse the ice long enough for us to get out. He saved the Night Guard and a good few soldiers, and allowed us all to get back to the city so that the defence could be maintained. If it wasn’t for him, I suspect, Villiren would have fallen. He was a good one, ultimately. Bitter and jaded, just like you, and would have gone to great lengths to avoid doing any work. Just like you.’
‘Hey, I’ve done my fair share,’ Randur grunted. ‘I’ve saved Eir from execution, as well as your charming Empress Rika. Took them from right under Urtica’s eye, and I brought them all the way out here. I think I’ve earned a rest, don’t you? Especially from that woman Rika. You can deal with her sourness now.’
‘Tell me,’ Brynd began, ‘did anything happen to Rika before you brought her to Villiren? She seems rather different these days. You went through quite a journey, so it seems. That’s enough to change someone’s outlook . . .’
‘You’re ferreting out why she’s such a miserable sow all of a sudden, aren’t you? Truth be told, I don’t know. She was always boring, right from when I met her, but at least there was something gentle to her then. Now, she’s . . . Well, there’s a glint in her eye that wasn’t there before. You could call it a darkness in her heart – she’s no longer a docile girl, no longer some meek former priestess. She wasn’t the same after she met Artemisia. I take it you were told about us being on her ship?’
‘Yeah, Rika and Eir told me about that. A ship in the sky – quite remarkable.’
‘Ridiculous if you ask me, though the flying monkey things were fun. Anyway, things changed then, on that ship. I wouldn’t like to say that it was Artemisia’s doing, but Rika felt like that warrior woman was her god. She was in awe of her right from the off, and didn’t seem to want to question her like we did, me and Eir. Then – and here’s the really weird part – they took the same c
hambers at night. Heard groaning, but didn’t know if they were, you know . . .’ He raised his eyebrows at Brynd. ‘Getting their end away.’
‘I understood you from your expression, thank you,’ Brynd said. ‘You don’t know for certain? This could change things.’
‘The old pervert in me likes to think they were – just to loosen Rika up a bit, you know? But truth be told, I’m not sure. The groans could have been from pleasure or pain.’
‘What happened after that?’
‘Well, next thing you know, Rika suddenly toughened up a little. At the time I was just grateful she stopped being so useless and passive – things would happen with a little more certainty.’ Randur let out a sigh. ‘I’ve no doubt we’re all doing the right thing by Artemisia, having witnessed what I have, and having been protected by her blades. But Rika’s a different person by a long way. And I just hope . . .’
Brynd remained silent, hoping Randur might continue. The wind stirred, sliding across this bleak landscape.
Randur pushed back a lock of his long black hair, and flashed him a grin. ‘I bet after saving the city you didn’t anticipate handing over the reins of the Empire to such a bitch.’
Brynd grunted. ‘You should have more respect for the woman who leads so many people into this new era.’
‘Thing is,’ Randur replied, ‘how much respect does the woman have for her people?’
*
They rode on for the better part of an hour until the road petered out, becoming nothing more than a muddy trail. The lights of the city faded from view, and the darkness and silence of the countryside became something more complete. Stars were brighter and the temperature plummeted. It wasn’t long before all they could hear were the sounds of the horses’ hooves and the animals’ breathing.
They navigated east around the edge of the Wych Forest, and up a long, gentle slope that seemed to go on forever. Even at this hour, one of the moons cast enough light to suggest that nothing had been moving around here for days, not even any animals. The horses walked slower wherever the snow deepened; Brynd was careful not to injure them on this terrain. The further inland they travelled, clouds suddenly began to mass, obscuring the stars, and Brynd could smell the smoke from campfires some way off.
The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) Page 9
