Three, four, eight, nine, the numbers fell before him, everything slowed down, his enhancements came to light; his comrades by his side, he felt unstoppable. The creatures fell by the dozen; blood was splattered thickly across his dark armour. The ground became a sodden mulch of blood, mud and offal.
Then, lightness and a sudden rush of air.
What was left of this first wave retreated back to their own lines and, even there, chaos appeared to have broken out.
Brynd was astonished to see that Artemisia’s unit had progressed some hundred yards further up the valley; they were now surveying the wreckage of battle, thrusting their spears into anything that was still moving.
Brynd gave the command to refresh the lines. The Night Guard and front rows of veterans peeled back into their ranks and fresh soldiers were brought forward.
‘They’re not wearing much armour,’ Brug muttered. ‘They’re undisciplined and untrained. This should be easy.’
‘It’s not them I’m bothered about,’ Brynd said, ‘there’s worse beyond.’
Artemisia strode over to him, wiping the blood from her blade. ‘A good start, commander. They make splendid sport, do they not? They’ve mostly fled now.’
The Night Guard marched back through the ranks, informing the gathered men that the veterans were still at the front, and inspired them by revealing how easy the defence would be. The mood visibly changed. It seemed that these newer Dragoons wanted a piece of history.
Despite the lighter armour, Brynd felt exhausted. The Night Guard sat on rocks just up to one side, away from the front, and soon Artemisia joined them.
Brynd lifted up his helmet. ‘The infantry is no problem. These soldiers will be able to hold their own now, I’m confident of that. We must see that the dragons and garudas can help out. But there’s worse back there, I’m sure of it. Thin it out with that liquid fire – whatever it was I saw being dropped on the sea earlier. We can hold our wall for as long as it takes – but as soon as those machines get near to us, Lantuk is done for.’
*
An hour later, his orders were enacted. As another wave of infantry came and failed against the Imperial shield-wall in the valley below, Brynd watched a squadron of dragons sailing overhead, with what garudas could be spared. Beneath the dragons he could see huge cylindrical tubes. The dragons drifted over the advancing infantry to where there were larger and more dangerous foes beyond.
Moments later they released their cargo and fire erupted on the ground, emitting huge flames and black smoke that licked up the sides of the valley. A deep shudder and explosions could be heard shortly after. The skies darkened. Everyone watched in awe. The fighting on the front line seemed to pause momentarily as the advancing warriors on both sides assessed what was going on.
‘What next?’ Artemisia asked.
‘Send your forces down from the hills,’ Brynd declared, ‘in order to clean up any of those who are trying to flee. I don’t want any prisoners of any kind. And bring more fire – there’s a lot down there that needs burning. I’ll advance the Dragoons through the valley to kill anything that moves.’
*
Back outside Lantuk, Brynd wanted to see the status of the battle and the situation beyond. He took one of the Mourning Wasps up to survey the remnants of the fighting.
He soared over devastation.
Not even in the urban confines of Villiren had the bodies of the dead been piled so high. First, the valley was littered with them, and the road had transformed into a bloodied river, bordered by the blackened sides of the valley. The charred remains of gargantuan creatures lay on their sides, some still barely moving; there was no blood here, just utter blackness.
He took the Mourning Wasp further up out of the valley and towards the surrounding landscape. From forests to the shore, creatures, humans, rumel, Okun, all lay in bloodied pieces. The whole region reeked of death and faeces; how many had died here to create such a mess, he would never know.
He flew towards the shore to see smouldering fires where the ships had been set alight; out to sea, vessels still burned. Out of the shallows jutted chunks of metal and wood, and the broken, webbed wings of enormous creatures. Mile after mile of this devastation stretched out along the grey surf. Occasionally something stirred within the bloody mess and Brynd wondered if someone had miraculously survived, but it always turned out to be a looter clipping rings from the fingers of the dead.
As he drifted over the corpsescape, he vowed to himself that this was the end of blood being spilled. It was the most humbling sight he had ever seen.
*
It was nightfall when he returned to Lantuk and no sooner had he landed than a garuda swooped down to land beside him. The impressive, black and white feathered creature, with astonishingly bright armour, breathlessly tried to get Brynd’s attention.
‘You have news for me?’ Brynd demanded.
Aye, the bird-sentry signed. I have flown all night from Villiren, as quick as I could.
‘Villiren?’ Brynd asked, frowning. ‘What’s wrong?’
The gangs, he signed. They’ve risen up to take the city.
THIRTY-THREE
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Randur said suddenly. It was pitch-black, and he’d only managed to get four hours’ sleep, but it was better than none. He stood up and stretched himself awake. The cold soon brought his senses back.
He took a mouthful of bread and a glug of water before he crouched by Eir. ‘I’m going to head over the side of the building. We’ve got rope, right?’
‘What on earth for?’
‘I need to visit someone,’ Randur smiled, moving over to a specific bag they had brought up. He rummaged inside, clanked about, managed to scoop something out and conceal it in one of the pockets of his breeches. ‘Just trust me, OK?’
‘Don’t go, Randur, stay. Can’t you send one of the others to do whatever it is you have in mind?’
‘Nope. No one else will know the way.’
‘What are you going to do exactly?’ She eyed him with suspicion.
‘Just trust me.’
Randur gave orders to some of the men to help tie him securely so he could step over the edge and abseil down one side of the building, near one specific area. He walked down the wet stonework as if he had done it all his life, though he was fearful that he’d fall onto the streets below.
Now’s not the time to show you’re scared, Randur, he told himself. You’ve blagged your way through life – at least you can give everyone a little hope you know what you’re doing . . .
After a few minutes of faffing about on his way down, he managed to find the window he wanted. Luckily it was on one of the higher floors, where they had not bothered boarding up the windows, only the doors on the inside. He peered through the glass but knew there would be no one on the inside.
No one from the gangs, at least.
He kicked at the glass and in large chunks it shattered. He cleaned the gap of any shards, and laid a piece of cloth on the windowsill for extra protection. Gripping the sides of the frame, he manoeuvred his legs into the gap, before untying the rope from around his waist. He sat there, momentarily, cursing his lack of fitness. A year ago and this would have been a piece of piss, he thought.
Once he had regained his breath, he wriggled through the gap and into the corridor connecting the gaol cells. He looked around for any signs that he had been spotted, but guessed he had got away with it.
Rika was in the corner. She appeared gaunt, skinnier than ever, but her expression was one of deep anger and resentment.
‘Evening,’ he announced, but she showed no signs of having heard him. ‘I’m guessing you’re probably quite hungry, right?’
Again, nothing.
‘Well, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Randur pulled the key from his pocket. First he walked to the main door that connected with the rest of the Citadel and checked it would open easily; then he returned and put the key in the lock. Hungrily, Rika glanced to his hand and then bac
k at him. He reached down into his boot, drew out a dagger, and placed it outside the cell, then sprinted to the window, jumped back up onto the frame, tied the rope securely around his waist. He heard the key click in the lock and the gaol door creak open. He slid his head then the rest of his body up and out of the window. He tugged down three times on the rope and shouted that he was coming up. He began to feel the rope tighten then yank him back outside into the darkness.
*
Back on the roof, back safely with Eir, she demanded he tell her what he had been up to.
‘I went to see Rika,’ Randur muttered.
Eir contemplated his statement and replied, ‘You freed her, didn’t you?’ There were conflicted emotions in her gaze, and he placed his hand over hers. ‘She hasn’t eaten in days, but she’s capable of causing a lot of damage. It took a superhero to catch her, that other night, you know.’
‘I can’t believe you did that without consulting me.’
‘It was the right thing to do, Eir. They would have killed her if they had seen her in the cell like that. They’d have shown no mercy because of who she was. If we’d brought her up here, she would have eaten us all.’
Eir remained silent, but the fact that she did not withdraw her hand indicated that she could well have supported his decision.
*
Screams filtered up through the night. They were occasional, at first – could have been anything. But the next time Randur woke up, the wails of agony from below were terrifying, far more so than anything the gangs had imposed upon the group. Men seemed to be suffering from horrific ordeals. They were sobbing and screeching like bats.
There must have been very few places to run in the winding corridors of the Citadel, very few ways in which to escape. However, if you were familiar with the layout, as Rika was, then there would be infinite places to take refuge.
Perhaps it was a very cruel thing for him to have done, unleash some mad cannibal in such confines. Perhaps . . .
Only when the screams finally diminished could he fall asleep once again.
*
The crowds began to surge again, down below. The first rays of the morning sun began to show themselves, peeling back the darkness of the night. It had been a quiet evening. If indeed there had been breaches of the higher levels of the Citadel, Randur wasn’t aware of it. For all he knew, the gangs might have decided that there was no one around any more; that they had vanished down some secret tunnel. There was nothing to reveal that they were on the roof.
They ate meagre rations and waited. Noises filtered up from below: the Citadel was being ransacked. All that the commander had worked for was probably being ripped up or, judging by the burning smells, being set alight.
‘Do you think we should perhaps negotiate with them, lay down our weapons?’ one of the guards said.
‘Oh that’s right,’ Randur replied, ‘hand them our arses on a plate. Do you really think they’ll offer any kind of mercy? These are gangs – another word for c—’
‘Randur!’ Eir interrupted. ‘There’s no need for that. The man was simply asking a logical question.’
‘Logical?’ Randur spluttered, and glared at the soldier. ‘You can hand yourself in if you want. They might use your head as a vase if you’re lucky.’
‘I meant no offence, sir,’ the soldier replied wearily. ‘My apologies. I will, of course, fight as long as you instruct me to.’
‘Good.’ Randur strode to the edge of the building to look over the cityscape, feeling the chill wind on his face. He half hoped someone would see him and report that there were people on the roof. He wanted people to come at him now. He was sick of waiting – that was all he had done since he’d been in the city. He was a country lad, a scrapper. What’s more, he hadn’t had a good fight in ages.
He glanced back to the others, whose attention was now drawn to the opposite side of the roof – there, in the face of the onshore wind, someone was trying to climb up. Randur ran to address the situation, but arrived as the soldiers knocked the individual back down to the balcony a couple of floors below. The thug, a thickset man with a beard, fell flat on his back and lay motionless, staring up at them. Below the balcony, the streets were thronging with people.
‘Well, now they know we’re here,’ Randur muttered.
It wasn’t long before people were trying to get through the hatch and over the side of the wall. Not many attempted the latter route – it was too dangerous. The hatch repeatedly clattered until the sun was much higher in the sky, which led Randur to believe that people were taking it in turns to batter it.
Everyone looked to Randur and Eir for guidance now, but when an axe pummelled upwards into the wood, the soldiers stepped back and withdrew their weapons. Eir did the same. Randur took a few paces away to get a better perspective on the scene, before drawing his own blade and channelling in to his old sword techniques.
It felt as if he had met with an old friend again – that familiarity with the tension, the adrenalin, channelling his rage.
The hatch split.
One of the soldiers thrust his blade in the gap, stabbing someone down below. A cry came up, followed by a clatter as whoever it was fell backwards. Then a silence lingered. Randur could feel his pulse thicken in his throat.
Three soldiers stood around the hatch, waiting, swords in hand.
An arrow flew up and through the gap, narrowly missing one of the men. A moment later, more debris was tossed up, then someone tried to lunge out – he got a sword to his neck and fell bleeding down below, but by that point another man had squirmed up, waving a mace around his head as he did so, gashing one of the soldiers in the leg before another came to him with his blade. In the mayhem, more gang members piled out of the hatch, three now, each of different stature, and they shambled around the rooftop, weapons extended, but with a tired look in their eyes.
Randur smiled, knowing that they would not have had the benefit of a decent night’s sleep, as suggested by their lazy sword-handling and slowness of step. The soldiers quickly dispatched the invaders before yet more thugs came up in their place. Soon most of the soldiers were engaged in the business of sword-fighting as one, darkly handsome individual clambered up and sauntered around away from the main fight.
He was an onlooker, here, waiting for the mess to be over.
Randur noticed that three of the soldiers now lay dead or bleeding to death on the rooftop. People were dropping like flies – this was messy, useless combat.
The man with the handsome face and three-day-old stubble strode around the edge of the fighting and nodded at both Randur and Eir, before drawing his sword.
‘What’s your name, kid?’ the man asked, above the groaning of the wind.
‘Randur Estevu,’ he replied.
‘Bit of a crap name, that.’
‘Can you do any better?’
‘Malum,’ the man declared.
‘Not much better at all.’
‘Blame my mother,’ Malum muttered. ‘I take it this is Lady Jamur Rika?’
‘Jamur Eir, her sister,’ Eir replied. She was now clutching her sword in anticipation.
Randur decided then was a good time to bring out his own blade, and the three of them stood there, to one side. ‘Quite a few screams last night,’ he announced. ‘Must have been pretty messy.’
‘Was that your doing?’ Malum replied.
Randur shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I’ll tell you, shall I? I lost forty of my best guys, and five others lost a few of their limbs. Mad bitch, whoever it was.’
‘Did you stop her?’ Eir replied.
‘No,’ Malum replied. ‘She dined her way down a floor or two and jumped out of a second-floor window. She’s somewhere lost in the city for all I know. Who was she?’
Randur began. ‘That was Lady—’
‘We don’t know who you’re talking about,’ Eir interrupted, glaring at Randur.
The fight continued around them. R
andur saw Blavat dropping something down the hatch that caused a blinding flash of light below.
‘Useful things, cultists,’ Malum said.
The man was strangely confident, cockier than even Randur himself, which was a disarming point to note. The way he strode about the rooftop as if this was already his Citadel was something that annoyed Randur. He stood with one foot up on the low gap between crenellations so that he could tighten his boot laces.
Such arrogance, Randur thought. He cautioned for Eir to move further away. ‘He looks a good fighter. It’ll be easier if I’m not worried about you,’ he whispered, and could see the annoyance in her face. Despite this, she moved back.
‘Well, enough of pleasantries,’ Malum declared, and with a sudden fury launched into a blazing attack on Randur, nearly catching him off guard from the off. While the commotion continued around them, Malum forced Randur further along the rooftop. Randur intercepted the first flurry of blows with difficulty – he was out of decent practice, and the force of Malum’s strikes was incredibly intense.
But soon Randur gained control.
His tactic would be to let Malum wear himself out, to go on the defensive, to guide the strikes away harmlessly. He did not fight in any style that Randur knew of, and there was no grace to the man’s aggressive technique.
Two blows to either side within a split second nearly disarmed Randur completely. He stumbled back across the rooftop and caught a side-long glimpse of Eir engaged in combat herself, but he didn’t have time to register her progress, he was back on his feet firmly, back on the defensive, the repetitive zing of steel sliding across steel filling his ears.
Malum did not tire. Was he some kind of animal? He still retained the same level of aggression as in his first blows. Randur shifted his focus momentarily to see the man’s face, which was a picture of rage – and were they fangs in his snarling mouth?
Randur was breathless. He could only parry so much before he realized he would have to commence his own attack. He dashed to his right, wrong-footing Malum, moving around another fight, taking a moment to register the high red sun and the dizzying cityscape below, before lurching right at Malum with a flurry of attacks.
The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) Page 37
