Damn rip-off traders.
Within a minute, something began smelling bad.
He lifted the pan away from the stove immediately, and examined the steaks with his investigator's eye.
Marysa popped her head around the doorway. 'They're not done already, are they? You only just put them on!'
Jeryd gave a bitter laugh. 'Something's not right with these.'
She approached him, laid a hand on his shoulder, her perfume a pleasant contrast to the smell emanating from the pan. She said, 'Has the meat gone off?'
'No, I bought these steaks earlier, didn't I, and they looked fresh to me. I mean, they weren't dried out or anything.' It then struck him that the smell reminded him of something – and not something from a wholesome source.
'It can't be…'
'What?' Marysa demanded.
'No, it just can't be.'
'What?' she repeated, now irritated. 'What do you think it is, Rumex?'
Jeryd placed the pan very carefully on the table, and closely scrutinized the contents. 'I remember a similar smell from funeral pyres… which suggests this meat is either human or rumel. I can't be sure though – perhaps it's just some unusual breed of livestock.'
Marysa squealed in shock. 'That's vile, it can't be hominid.'
'Well, I don't know.' Jeryd put the pan aside. 'But in the morning, I'm going to find out where the hell the trader got this from. As I've often said, the good investigator always follows his nose.'
TWENTY-FIVE
Streets were cold and narrow. The doorways of the stores were empty, apart from drunks or the insane hopeless.
Brynd was intoxicated by his own nervousness. He carried none of the money Malum had asked for and he had come without telling the others. This was something he had to do alone. So what if he died; the prospect of death seemed to lessen the pressure of having to protect this city, the pressure of being what he was in a world that hated such beings.
Brynd sauntered into an empty iren site two streets away from the Victory Hole tavern, a vast cobbled courtyard with three-storey buildings built up along each side, with only one or two windows showing lantern light. There was a chill to the air and he paused for some time, listening to the sound of his own breath.
Someone hailed him by rank, the sudden sound resonating within the enclosed space. Malum was leaning against the wall over in one corner, arms folded, face hidden behind a mask. 'You got my money, commander?'
Flakes of snow were beginning to fall with a steady dignity.
'I'll tell you what I have: I have fuck all for you.'
Malum showed no sign of agitation. 'Then why're you here? Got yourself a death wish?'
'I'm here to clear my name, to prove myself more of a man than the likes of you, who don't understand the concept of fighting on behalf of other people. Remember, cowardice takes many forms.'
'Cunt,' Malum grunted. Something changed in his tone then, some bitterness surfacing. Brynd could only see his mouth, how it had tightened. Malum whispered something into the darkness behind him. With his booted heel he pushed himself away from the wall, and strutted into the centre of the empty courtyard.
'I bet you've probably not come alone, either,' Brynd taunted, 'too scared even to take on someone you consider beneath you. Shows how much of a man you aren't. Confirms everything I've been hearing about you and-'
'You've heard of my reputation?' Malum suggested. 'People fear me with good reason.'
'I've seen you fight,' Brynd admitted, remembering the man's performance in the underground. 'You act tough, but it's sloppy technique, and I'm willing to take that on. Tell you what, if I beat you – you get your men fighting for the city. Besides, your little plan won't work – we're already dealing with any rumours about me you'll spread. You're not the only one with influence here.'
'Too much talking,' Malum grunted.
Shadows against the wall: more thugs arriving. Brynd could smell arum weed, hear the shuffle of boots as they filed in.
'You and me, or are you going to get your gang alongside you?'
'They won't fight as long as it's just you and me.'
A messer blade was shaken free from Malum's sleeve, and just then his teeth seemed to alter strangely – two prominent fangs – now snarling from beneath his mask. Lunging forward, the man swiped the blade sideways across Brynd's face, but he ducked, grabbed Malum's arm, held it away, gave him a sound thump in the stomach with his free hand. Malum hardly reacted, merely absorbing the powerful blow. They separated and Brynd drew his sabre, twice as long as Malum's weapon.
'Hey, catch.' A voice from the shadow, followed by a hurled sword. Malum caught it, and just then several torches were lit. Fifty or so of Malum's men were leaning against the perimeter of the empty iren site, their faces hidden by hoods or masks. Eyes glimmered in the torchlight, and Brynd noticed how they all possessed unnatural fangs.
Brynd lunged forward following a modern technique he'd been working on, leading into the flank so that he was in control of the sequence. He swung for Malum's ribs, then his shoulder, aiming to kick his legs away from under him, but the thug was too nimble, too clever, backing off at angles. Controlled moves from studied routines, swift and relentless. But Brynd slipped on the cobbles, then realized he was on the defensive.
Malum became remorseless, slicing in at all degrees, a fusion of random styles to make the most of what he could snatch from the situation. The man was even trying to bite him – here was rage, nothing but pure, undisciplined rage.
Their frenzied movements clattered across the confines of the courtyard. Malum made a lengthy slice, and Brynd jumped up to avoid his legs being taken out. Then as he landed he brought his heel to Malum's thigh, pushing him backwards.
Whistles and cheers at the periphery of his mind, the calls of encouragement from the gang members, Malum's name yelled on all sides, and it spurred the thug on – his fury becoming more apparent in every thrust, retreat, thrust. Their swords rang out, metal skidding, till a sudden flick of a blade caught Brynd's jaw and he stumbled backwards. Malum paused for breath. Blood had been drawn, but the wound healed in an instant. Brynd wiped it off with his sleeve.
He could see the reaction by Malum's open mouth. 'That's right, I'm enhanced. Or didn't you know that? Still want to carry on?'
While the animal-thug stood gaping, Brynd moved in once again, aiming for his neck. Again defended, again turned into an attack, but Brynd then forced Malum into a set of moves. Suddenly Malum twisted his ankle on the slick cobbles, stumbling and dropping his sword. Brynd kicked the weapon away, glaring.
'Finish it, queer,' Malum grunted.
For a moment Brynd considered that, but threw his own sword away to one side. There were certain things he had to prove now. 'We fight with fists. Or are you scared you'll get aroused by close contact with a man?'
'Fuck you.' Malum lunged towards him and knocked him to the ground. Brynd smacked his head on the stone, but he immediately recovered, concentrating on the fight. He kneed Malum violently in the chest sending him sliding sideways. Brynd was already standing ready as the other shifted to his feet, and kicked him in the ribs, but Malum grabbed his foot, and sent them both tumbling. Malum leapt sideways but he was wearying by now and Brynd suddenly pinned him to the ground, then punched him hard in the face twice. 'I'll let you live if you get your men to fight!' He couldn't stop eyeing the man's fangs.
Brynd paused for a response.
Malum's face was scored badly across his lip. 'Fuck. You. Queer.'
Brynd lost control, punching Malum in the face repeatedly, but Malum merely laughed. Was the fucker insane?
An arrow shot suddenly across in front of Brynd's face, inches away, and skidded away across the cobbles. It was only then that he noticed the man's gang advancing-
– Then men on the opposite side of the iren, Night Guard soldiers, ten of them, running over to Brynd's side. Lupus was there, hauling Brynd away from the gang leader, who was struggling to his feet. 'You keep b
ehaving like that, and you're a thug just like them. You understand, commander?'
'What?'
'We're here to protect people of the Empire, not kill them. You are not here to exchange blows with a thug. You are a Night Guard soldier.'
'I'm no hero, private. That much is clear.' Heaving breaths. 'What are you doing here?'
'Heard you were in a spot of bother, sir.'
Brynd watched dumbly as his men formed a protective wall against the gang, tried not to feel sentimental as he realized how his men were standing by him.
Malum shambled back into the midst of his gang members, wiping his broken mouth. Like two opposing tribes, the Night Guard and gang stared at each other across the courtyard.
A bell rang abruptly, from the Citadel. Brynd instantly knew what it meant.
Ignoring Malum, he turned to lead his troops back towards the barracks, at a run through the freezing night-streets of the city. More soldiers appeared, Dragoons, about twenty of them, and they were sprinting toward the docks.
Brynd located their commanding officer and demanded a report.
'Small attack unit, sir – a boat heading for Port Nostalgia. No more than ten of them aboard.'
'The Okun?'
'Aye, sir.'
They scythed a path through the bitter chill, along the dark streets, preparing weaponry. Brynd realized he himself wasn't armed properly.
The Night Guard soldiers didn't refer to prior events, though Nelum was now here, leading the group.
Shouts began arising from the district of Shanties, and from Port Nostalgia. The snow abated. Two minutes later, they rounded a corner and were presented with a view of the docks, where a unit of soldiers was already engaged in combat. Thankfully the light of one of the moons broke free of the clouds, and they could see what they were dealing with.
Men were screaming and dying. The last soldiers fell, and only two Okun were left standing, moonlight glinting off their shell-armour and dark claw-blades.
Lupus nocked an arrow, fired it into the neck of one creature where he knew there was no protection. As it collapsed twitching to the ground, he did the same with the other, but this time missed. He tried again but clipped the top of its well-protected head.
Brynd ordered a walled attack. Three privates of the Night Guard formed a line and advanced forwards with locked shields, the commander just behind. The surviving creature made that clicking sound, sparing in its movements until finally provoked into defence, lashing out with its claw-blades.
A soldier collapsed screaming, but the other two – including the newly promoted Tiendi – managed to force the creature back, then hack it down. A moment later Brynd himself stepped forward to assess the situation. The fallen soldier was severely injured in his shoulder, a deep wound that would take time to recover from, even an enhanced Night Guard.
Offshore hovered a boat carrying what looked like several rumel and possibly another Okun, and it was retreating, slowly moving away from the vessels packing the harbour. A swing around a rock and it was gone.
Brynd assessed the situation: twenty-three dead soldiers. Two civilian casualties. Ten dead Okun.
Scouts had returned reporting no sign of further attacks, so he ordered a garuda to patrol the shore in confirmation. He demanded dense patrolling of the area from now on, and for garudas to find that missing boat.
Brynd turned to his soldiers. 'This was a feint. I think they wanted to observe our response. They've little knowledge of us, like we've little knowledge of them.'
'They were happy to sacrifice ten of their own then,' Nelum agreed. 'Annoyingly they left no survivors to inform us about their fighting methods or reveal how they got here without being seen. And why use a boat? I would have thought if they were basically crustacean-based then…'
'Perhaps their body armour is too heavy,' Brynd suggested, suddenly aware of how cold it was becoming. Dragoons and Night Guard milled around in the aftermath, clearing bodies from the harbour, then loading them on carts. More civilians had gathered, but were held back by Dragoons, and one woman wearing a headscarf started wailing loudly as she realized her husband had been killed.
There may well be a lot more grieving widows soon.
Brynd turned and sought out Lupus, who was busy helping with the removal of the Okun. 'Private, a quick word.'
'Sir.'
They stood away from the hubbub, under the shelter of a boarded-up rope store. 'I wanted to give you my personal thanks for what you did earlier.'
Lupus nodded. 'I hope you didn't object to being followed – Nelum saw you leave and just wanted to check you were safe, what with the disappearances.'
'Did he now? Well we discovered tonight that it's a fine line between being a soldier and being a thug. We must keep disciplined, and you two kept me that way. You both have my deepest thanks for your act.'
'I would rather you killed the bastard, of course,' Lupus replied. 'Sir, I heard those accusations in the iren… the things he said…'
Had Nelum said anything? 'I was only taunting him. You have to rise above these things, and find mental weaknesses in their armour. He was deeply unstable. I think it was because of my skin-tone, originally. People often take umbrage to my whiteness.'
'Sir, even if those things were true, I want you to know… I'd still follow your command.'
'Such open-mindedness is admirable, private. But not necessary in this case.'
Lupus fell back in line with the others, who waited for the next command. Up above, the second moon came out, and both Bohr and Astrid offered their illumination of damaged Port Nostalgia. Brynd was acutely aware that this was only the beginning.
TWENTY-SIX
As he headed for the church, Nelum noticed Private Lupus shuffle away from the barracks with his face half hidden under his hood.
'Out late tonight, private?'
'Lieutenant, I, uh… I'm heading out on a quick patrol… Well, actually it's personal business – and the commander sanctioned it.'
Nelum nodded and watched the private continue on his way through the snow-filled streets. The number of patrols had increased recently, equipped with hand-held bells to warn against further attacks.
Nelum had known Lupus for a few years, and reckoned he seemed rather disturbed of late. Rumour had it that he was seeing some woman, an old flame living in the city, and Nelum didn't mind that, so long as it didn't interfere with his professional work. Though it seemed a damn silly time to be having an affair: what was the point of falling in love, in a city that might soon be doomed?
He hailed a fiacre that rattled across much of Villiren, before he continued on foot. He passed two homeless men smothered in blankets inside a doorway. Then an entire family huddled around a fire blazing in a metal drum. When they asked him for spare change he could only walk on.
The church dominated the surrounding streets here. Old architecture loomed, imposing a sense of history on the city. Its mullions and transoms were some of the finest he'd ever seen, and its enormous lancet-shaped windows were awe-inspiring. He marvelled at its glory. Above the finely sculpted entrance to the Jorsalir church was a parvise with a light burning inside, warm and inviting, and he headed towards it.
A moment later Nelum stood inside the entrance, smelling the history beyond. He studied by candlelight the massive murals that covered the walls with faded colours and shapes. He placed a Sota coin in the box labelled 'Offerings'.
Everything here was familiar, a trigger to his memories. He remembered walking through similarly ornate chambers to reach the libraries in the vast private academies in Villjamur. In all those years after his mother died, bringing him into this world, his father frequently urged him to become an academic, that he should train with the eschatologists or genethlialogists. In that strict Jorsalir household, it was even mooted that he join the priesthood, and more than once the young student received a curt slap for scoffing at the notion. The irony that his father had been a failed priest in his youth was not lost on Nelum during tho
se times, and he could forgive the man for taking his anger out on his own lost opportunities. But Nelum had shunned all that, eventually shunned the money his father was ready to throw at him to study. Instead he chose to enlist as a soldier.
Despite those painful memories, being here brought him a sense of relief, rejoicing that there could be such beauty in this city. History was present in these walls, deep within the Ancient Quarter. Images of the founder gods, Bohr and Astrid, two of the ancient Dawnir race two hundred thousand years ago, their names now attributed to the two moons. Representations of the rumel wars, fifty millennia later, before even humans existed. Depictions of the Mathema and Azimuth civilizations, from over thirty thousand years ago, two immense kingdoms that possessed everything, that worshipped mathematics and had technology far superior to that of the present day, only to be brought to their knees by crop failures and war – a harsh warning against excessive reliance on technology. And finally the Jamur Empire, now known as the Urtican Empire, a tradition of greatness of which he himself was a part. He was proud of that fact – everyone was in the Night Guard.
And here was his dilemma: that the commander of the Night Guard, the most senior military figure, was someone whose lifestyle troubled the prestigious qualities becoming to the Empire, and its most sacred doctrines.
Nelum remembered the whispered conversations of the past. There had always been rumours from soldier to soldier matching the one Brynd had told him. People had seen him go to this place or that over the years – never a direct sighting, of course, but he had thought he could ignore it. The man fought well, led well; these things weren't important for a while. Some spoke of a man back in Villjamur who Brynd would visit some evenings, but if the Night Guard could contain the problem then their name would not be tarnished. Only thing was, the rumours were feral.
Without saying so, earlier Brynd had confirmed Nelum's suspicions about him. It was there in his mannerisms, in his awkward gestures and his strained voice, and now Nelum could no longer overlook the problem. Nelum only wanted to do the right thing, but no solutions came to mind. He badly needed advice.
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