The Broken Isles lotrs-4

by Mark Charan Newton

  Brynd sighed with a smile. ‘Here it gets even more complex. The money men, as you put it, need laws to protect their wealth, which is why I’ve brought in legal assistance to form a set of laws — a universal treaty — once all this mess is over. I’ve made it clear that construction of society is the highest priority.’

  ‘You are a man of great vision,’ Artemisia said. ‘Yet for one who is so optimistic, it seems you are perpetually unhappy.’

  ‘I don’t get paid to be happy,’ Brynd said.

  ‘You do not, it seems, get paid at all at the moment,’ Artemisia pointed out.

  ‘I see your Jamur is improving vastly,’ Brynd said bitterly. Then, ‘I’ve had trouble finding you for a while — what have you been up to?’

  ‘I have been here and there through the gates, many times. You have come across the assembled forces, I understand?’

  ‘Indeed, and it’s a most impressive array of forces. I was speechless when I saw them — a most successful effort.’

  Brynd thought he saw pride in her appearance then: a subtle changing in her posture and expression.

  ‘However,’ she continued, ‘it does not at times seem to be enough, for so many have died in our world. We want to evacuate many more of our civilians here as well as the military — because on your islands there is sanctuary. We need to settle here. We are losing everything of our home.’

  ‘Your resources will be a hugely significant help to us here,’ Brynd said. ‘This is a different world. I know the geography of it better than an emperor cooped up in a high tower. My men have shed blood over most of it. Trust me, the landscape here is different, the people are stubborn — but we’ll need to work together. Once we have victory behind us, we can settle any differences, but we must remain a united force, no one-upmanship.’

  ‘You have our promise on that, commander.’

  ‘Good. Because I need more than your promise right now — we need your help. I’ve received a report that up to around sixty thousand civilians are currently fleeing across the island of Jokull. Villjamur has collapsed completely, and nothing remains there.’ He described in detail the presence of the sky-city, of genocide, and of the strange land-vehicles.

  Artemisia questioned him, but he could give little detail. And for the first time today she actually faced him. ‘Two matters here. The first is that, as I suspected, our. . enemy has done what they always threatened to do. That is a matter that must be dealt with. But secondly, and of equal importance to our culture: as I told you before, our creator has broken through to your world of his own accord. These land-vehicles — he has made such things commonplace in our world. If these vehicles are as you say, then it suggests to me his location may well have been found.’

  ‘Then you’ll want to investigate this also?’ Brynd suggested.

  ‘This is of interest to us and I understand, also, your concerns for civilian life. What needs do you have of us?’

  ‘I have some suggestions for a military operation,’ Brynd said. ‘It will require you to liaise with your people gathered to the south of the city and, if possible, to have a reply by sunrise. By which time I will have gathered enough of our own military forces, which have been regrouping and rebuilding ever since the defence of Villiren.’

  ‘What is your plan, commander?’ Artemisia asked.

  ‘That depends,’ Brynd said, ‘on which of the many races I saw in your encampment are able to join us.’

  Early evening, and hail pummelled the outside of the Citadel, creating an ambient noise that soothed Brynd’s agitated mind. He couldn’t hear all the activities of the corridors, all the hubbub from the floors below — a moment of peace after an afternoon engaged in the business of arguing with lawyers. Spending just half an hour with a lawyer confirmed to Brynd that a military life had certainly been the right path.

  It occurred to him, on the way back to his room, that if the remains of Jamur society were to blend with another, alien culture and customs of both must be respected, then existing laws and dictats — ones based upon ancient and religious decrees — would have to be adjusted.

  There was a pounding on his door — he assumed from the heavy thumping that it was Artemisia. He leapt up from his chair and called her in.

  ‘You bring news?’ he asked.

  ‘I bring news.’ As ever, it was difficult to tell much from Artemisia’s appearance. ‘Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, you will be able to utilize the better part of a thousand soldiers.’

  He considered the value they would add. ‘And the transport?’

  ‘The elders agreed — more units are being brought through the gates ready to be dispatched when the sun is at its highest. You will need to inform your soldiers of this and tell them to get what sleep they can before the mission.’

  ‘I’d like to be briefed on the differing capabilities of your people,’ Brynd said. ‘I witnessed a great range among the races.’

  ‘I will have this written down for you for the morning.’

  ‘With regards to the transport. .’ Brynd started.

  ‘You will,’ Artemisia finished, ‘be briefed on how to handle the journey. There are specially fitted. . I think the best word is “cargo” holds for many people to be carried at once. For now, get rest, commander, and make sure that your meals tomorrow morning are consumed more than an hour in advance of the flight.’

  Before Brynd could brief the members of the Night Guard, and to suggest they use cultist enhancements on their weapons when they woke, he called in on Rika and Eir. They were in another chamber in the Citadel, a vast space that had been hastily decorated and cleaned out of respect for them, so that they could have somewhere to be at peace. Richly decorated with highly polished wooden furniture, lavish tapestries and an immense, ornate fireplace, it was once used as the former portreeve’s bedchamber. Incense burned in one corner, making the room feel calming. Eir was standing by a small washbasin, and turned to regard him, though Rika remained seated.

  He greeted them and informed them of his intentions.

  ‘You should,’ Rika said, ‘remember to inform me of such things first, before making such bold decisions in my name.’

  Like hell I should. . ‘Indeed, and for that I can only apologize. You see, we had to act urgently. I’ve hardly had time to breathe.’ Brynd gave a short bow of apology, not his most sincere, he had to admit, before glancing to Eir. He noticed then that there were stains on her arms. ‘Is that blood on your skin?’

  She glanced down self-consciously. ‘Oh, no. . well, technically yes, this is blood, but it isn’t mine. I’ve been helping out in the city and I didn’t clean myself up properly before I left. That’s why I’m at the basin.’

  ‘What were you doing?’ Brynd asked.

  ‘There is a small hospital near Port Nostalgia, which needed some assistance, and I offered my help. I’m not exactly doing a lot around here. I wanted to do my bit, so I’ve found a small role helping to nurse some of the injured from the war. Suffice to say it is rather different from the role I am used to. .’

  ‘It isn’t fitting,’ Rika hissed, ‘for a girl of your position. Our blood must ensure it stays out of such affairs.’ There was something vaguely animalistic about the way she tilted her head.

  ‘Did you not do similar things as a priestess?’ Brynd enquired. ‘Surely Jorsalir clerics assisted in such matters?’

  ‘They did,’ Rika replied. ‘That was then. . But times have changed.’

  ‘I’m certain the people of the city would appreciate the gesture,’ Brynd continued, and Eir smiled proudly back.

  Rika, on the other hand, looked as grim-faced as ever. Her expression lacked any of the serenity of her youth.

  ‘When you have finished your next mission,’ Rika said, ‘I have commenced establishing laws and legislation so that we are set for rebuilding my father’s Empire.’

  ‘Now might not be the best time to mention this,’ Brynd began. ‘I’d hoped you would have wondered why there are so many of the Empi
re’s people on the road. I thought you had been briefed.’

  ‘No. No one has told me anything. Speak.’

  Brynd told them about Villjamur. That it was no longer there. That citizens urgently needed to be evacuated, which is where he was going first thing in the morning.

  Clearly distraught, Eir sat down with her head in her hands. ‘All those people, dead. .’

  Rika declared, ‘Which means we must rebuild as quickly as possible. We must harness the power of citizens to fight and to fund our efforts.’

  Brynd wasn’t sure if he agreed with her or if it confirmed in his mind how she was developing into a deeply inappropriate leader. There were none of the qualities he hoped for. Perhaps she had inherited her father’s madness.

  ‘I’m sorry to bring such news, but I’ll do everything within my power to see our people are brought to safety. I’ve seen to it that enough resources — both in terms of personnel and rations — are being diverted accordingly. Ships have already set sail with cultist-enhanced grain, to cope with what may follow. I’ve dispatched messengers to settlements with major ports to release all seaworthy vessels to our cause. I don’t quite know what to expect when we arrive, but hopefully all of this will catch up with us, and be enough to guarantee survival.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be there already?’ Rika demanded.

  Brynd held his sigh from being too audible. Would the woman not give up? ‘I’m investigating swifter methods of transport, Lady Rika.’

  ‘Very good.’ Rika gave no further indication of her mood.

  ‘Look after yourself, commander,’ Eir offered, with a look of concern in her eyes. ‘You’ve done nothing short of help prop up the remnants of. . of this culture. Stay safe. We’d struggle without you.’

  ‘I haven’t scheduled any immediate plans to die just yet,’ he replied with a wide grin. ‘But thank you and, please, excuse me.’

  He began to back out of the room.

  When he reached the door, he heard Rika call out, ‘See that you do get them back and spend as little as you can. We will need what money we have to allow full integration with Artemisia’s people.’

  ‘You’re keen to see integration is smooth?’ Brynd stepped back in the room slightly.

  ‘We shall see that we keep our promise — I feel our people, too, must pay their fair share of their own future.’

  You, in your new guise, will make not only a poor leader, but also a dangerous one, Brynd thought as he left the two sisters in peace. He continued along the dusty stone corridor, fuming. With such reckless ideas, she’ll be usurped within days. I can’t allow that to happen. .

  Tonight he could finally dispatch three soldiers on horseback to Factory 54 with the deposit of money to pay for the new Night Guard armour. What the group would do with such cash was anyone’s guess, but by now he had realized these were not normal youngsters. They had acquired a knowledge beyond even some cultists. Perhaps because they were not like ordinary cultists, he actually started to believe what they said.

  Brynd paced back and forth behind windows at the front of the Citadel, quietly fuming at what had become of the Empire. His entire life had been spent building it up — to see it trashed so quickly was frightening, he had to admit. The sound outside the window indicated his soldiers had returned. He looked down out of the window as they drew up at the front of the Citadel with a cart. Dozens of vast crates were stacked on top; the soldiers began unloading them and hauling them into the Citadel. He went to see the delivered product and a few other Night Guard soldiers sauntered in, curious as to what the commotion was about.

  ‘What’s in the boxes?’ Brug asked.

  ‘An experiment.’ Brynd opened one of the crates. Inside was the soft glimmer of their new black armour, each piece — be it a helmet or a breastplate — bore a white, fist-sized seven-pointed star of the Empire. It was a nice touch.

  Our very own shell. . A shudder went through his body at the thought of it: that the things which contributed towards so many deaths would now become their new form of protection.

  It was an impressive development from the previous version he’d seen; they had worked quickly, too. He lifted one of the lightweight pieces of armour and placed it over his own head and body. He adjusted the straps around his ribs. It fitted the contours of his body naturally and felt as if he was wearing nothing heavier than a waxed raincape.

  ‘Looks impressive. What’s it made from?’ Brug asked, rapping the armour.

  ‘Just a new alloy,’ Brynd replied. ‘Cultist enhanced — I’ve been doing a little digging into new suppliers. Here.’ He handed one over to Brug who seemed braced for something heavier, and made an expression of surprise at its light weight. He marvelled at the texture, at the craftsmanship, and began testing it for rigidity. A few others filed in behind him, curious.

  ‘Incredible,’ Brug said. ‘You can’t even see any joins. This thing robust?’

  ‘Why not try for yourself?’ Brynd drew his sabre and offered it to Brug. Rubbing the back of his shaven head with one hand, he took the weapon, then stepped back to take a more formal combat stance. Brynd readied himself and tensed: just like Coren had done at the factory, Brug gave a tentative prod at first, poking the blade into the armour, then commenced with firmer strokes. Having placed his faith in the technology, Brynd merely smiled. Some of the others began laughing — even Brug, who eventually stopped his assault.

  ‘What about more rigid tests?’ Brug enquired.

  ‘Give it a shot.’

  Brynd lifted off his armour and placed it on a workbench. Several of them set about finding whatever blunt objects they could find in the vicinity and, with a breathtaking lack of logic, began to hammer down blows on the armour hoping it would bend or dent.

  Nothing.

  Hardly any scratches, not even a minor indentation. Despite the muscular enhancements of the Night Guard soldiers, despite their cultist-treated weapons, it seemed very little could make an impact.

  Brynd used the moment of their quiet awe to inform them that they would be trialling it for tomorrow’s mission. ‘I would consider the conflict tomorrow to not be anywhere near as intense as the defence of Villiren.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ someone muttered dryly. A few awkward chuckles spread about the room.

  Brynd smiled. ‘Though nothing’s ever easy, as you all should realize by now. Now, this new material replaces our current body armour — it’s made to similar specifications as the previous design, so there should be no problem there. I know normally we give things a go in training sessions, but I think the potential of this could be vast. The only difference you should find is that this is significantly lighter. You’ll not tire as quickly and you’ll have more mobility. You’ll be able to take just as many blows, if not more.’

  ‘Sounds like a no-brainer to me, commander,’ said Tiendi, the only female member of the Night Guard. Her shoulder-length blonde hair seemed a stark contrast to the more aggressive-looking men around her, but she had been every bit their equal on the battlefield.

  ‘Indeed,’ he replied. ‘I’m glad you think so too.’

  ‘Only,’ she continued, ‘are these only kitted out for men? Some of us, you know, are crafted a little differently. .’

  A few chuckles. ‘You’ll be relieved to know there’s one made with adequate room for your form. Now, are there any further questions about this or about the mission tomorrow?’

  There were a few predictable queries regarding the briefing he had given them earlier. Further questions about tactics and formations. Brynd encouraged them to think of such things, to take a part in strategic planning and offer suggestions.

  Managing soldiers was more than barking orders on the battlefield. These were the elite, the best fighters in the Boreal Archipelago, treated, trained and enhanced to be without peer, and they needed to be prepared.

  ‘Right,’ Brynd concluded, ‘you should all get some sleep. We wake before sunrise. Supplies are all sorted — you don’t need to
worry about that. I don’t anticipate us being on the ground for long — perhaps a week at the most if things go wrong — but I’ve already dispatched several units of Dragoons by longship. It will take them much longer to get there, but when they do they can relieve us and permit us to fall back. The mission is not territorial — I want to stress that. It is a rescue mission.’

  Brynd watched them file out of the room, a mixture of expressionless faces and determination. No one at this level really looked forward to engaging in combat these days: at least, no one who had survived and remembered the battle for Villiren.

  TEN

  Fulcrom didn’t think he could maintain optimism and reassure everyone for much longer. While the refugees and soldiers around him seemed calmed by his attitude, he believed in his own words and gestures less and less as the hours went by. People considered him a leader — many still called him ‘investigator’, others recognized him from Villjamur, though he wore no garb or symbols of the Inquisition and had left his medallion somewhere in the rubble of the city.

  Even if he still wore it around his neck, it would represent nothing. Any previous structures seemed irrelevant now. Existence fell into two categories: those who could muck in and look after the others, and those who needed guidance. Some were using terms of leadership whenever they addressed him: boss, chief, sir. He waved them down and asked to be called simply Fulcrom, but they didn’t stop doing it, and soon their expectations seemed to weigh down on his shoulders.

  Their hopes became his burden.

  He found joy in small things: children finding the time to play the odd game amidst these ruined lives. Or a puppy looking up from a basket being carried by an old man. A few entertainers engaged in spontaneous juggling acts, lifting the mood of the crowd. Storytellers pulled people in around campfires in order to forget about the evils that tormented them. There were rumels, like himself, and of all colour skins — brown, black, grey — helping their human companions, and vice versa, without a single hint of racial tension. There were people from immensely wealthy backgrounds — lords and ladies, retired military officials, landowners — all reduced to poverty; the poor, trained by years in the caves, helped them out with advice on ways of looking after themselves. It was, Fulcrom had to admit, immensely touching.