‘Later,’ Randur declared, then gave a nod to Eir, and she left.
The two men said nothing for some time, and Munio began ambling around the kitchen with a sense of purpose.
‘You won’t find any more drink,’ Randur said.
Munio glared at him. ‘And just who is this young parvenu who comes storming in from the past to invade my house like this?’
He slumped onto a stool at the table.
Randur ignored the tantrum and, slicing some warm bread, buttered it and slid the plate across to him.
‘Why’re you all here anyway?’ Munio asked.
‘Because you invited us, you miserable sod,’ Randur replied. He grabbed a mug of something hot and sat down opposite.
‘You’ve done all right, lad.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
Munio grunted a laugh. ‘The petulant child still exists, inside this glossy exterior. So how did you get away from this shithole of an island and come to meet the likes of those two posh lasses?’
‘I managed to steal a name from a dead man who was meant to be sword and dance tutor to Lady Eir. Originally I was there to get a cultist to help my poor mother, but I found cultists only helped themselves. My world then took something of a drastic turn and my priorities changed. Eir’s sister was due to become Empress. Then the man who’s probably now Emperor set them up for a crime of treason, and I helped get Eir and Rika out of the city. We’re now on the run to Villiren – since Rika’s got a plan, which is more than the rest of us have.’
‘Bohrsakes, child. Can’t believe you didn’t tell me this at first.’
Randur shrugged.
‘Well, makes no difference to those of us way out here who runs the Empire. And so having the burden of such responsibility – is it eating away yet?’
‘People can change,’ Randur replied. ‘And I’m not who I used to be. I can choose to be different if I want.’
‘People never really change,’ Munio declared, a statement of intent regarding his alcoholism, perhaps.
‘Look, there’s likely to be a big price on our heads, and that level of bounty can change a man’s thinking.’
‘A big price, for just you lot? You would’ve thought the Council had better things to be worrying about than a couple of kids.’
‘Money’s no problem to that man, Urtica – he’ll have a regiment or two spreading out across the Empire. Don’t forget, we’re fugitives. I have to keep looking over my shoulder, but I never let my concern show to the girls – I prefer to carry that burden myself. So we’re on our way north, to Villiren, to meet the commander there, and we’ll leave here as soon as we feel up to it.’
‘Why bother?’ Munio asked.
‘Rika wants to be able to clear her name – strangely, she actually wants to serve her people, to help them. She reckons the commander of the military – you must have heard of the legendary albino? – can help her out. Seems he brought her to Villjamur in the first place. We’re focused on that as our objective, and it’s all we’re living for at the moment.’
‘Long journey you have in mind.’
‘I think you should come with us. In fact, I want you to.’ Sudden, thrusting words.
Munio glanced at him in disbelief. ‘At my age?’
‘We could do with the extra protection. Also I only half remember the routes north from this part of the island, so your assistance in getting there would be bloody useful. You reckon you’d be up to it?’
‘Pah, I’m too old. People like me never change, like I said.’
Randur didn’t buy that. Like he deployed his sword strokes over the years, Munio had more than likely repeated the habits of his misery until he knew, by heart, how to shun the real world.
Randur pressed him further, more persuasive blows. ‘I know you’ve talked about money, or lack of, but when you’re on the road with us you won’t have to worry about that. Maybe we can catch up a bit, because there are so many years to talk about. I used to respect you so much, old friend. After all I didn’t have a father, and . . .’ Randur trailed off, as if expecting Munio to say what he then said.
‘Well, I never had a son.’ With these words Munio disarmed himself, let his guard down, and no longer had anything to parry Randur with.
A pause, and Randur said, ‘Or at least none that you knew about, you filthy old scrote. So you’ll join us, will you?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
The two of them laughed and Munio looked much the better for it.
‘Maybe it would do me good to get on the road again. What has my life here consisted of but sauntering around drunk and alone amid clouds of dust motes?’
Eir entered the room again and said, ‘She’s now busy meditating.’
Munio blurted out, ‘Young Eir! This one here has been telling me all about the pair of you.’
‘What kind of things?’ She eyed Randur with suspicion, as he shuffled over to her side.
‘Nothing bad.’
As the old man drew a sword, she turned sharply.
‘Lad says you’ve been keen to learn the ways of Vitassi,’ Munio said. ‘Shall we now see if he was as lazy a teacher as he was once a student.’
‘Rand, would you like to fetch my sword?’ she said coldly.
‘What, am I your servant now?’ He stomped off but returned moments later with the same thin blade she had used to cut her way out of Villjamur.
She grabbed it and turned to face Munio, who said, ‘Let’s have a look at you.’
His blade darted aggressively towards her torso, and for the next few minutes her sword was slapped around the kitchen by a master of the technique. Every time she made a strike, he seemed to predict what she was intending. He barked out corrective instructions, but when he eventually started singing, she lost her poise completely, slipping over, her sword clattering at Randur’s feet. He handed it back to her with a grin, knowing that if he said anything, he’d earn one of those glares she did so well.
‘And that’, Munio declared, ‘is why you should not be distracted by anything I say while I’m advancing. You must hear only your sword-stroke. You listen to me when we finish.’
‘The enemy aren’t exactly going to be advising me in combat, are they?’ Eir muttered breathlessly.
‘That depends’, Munio replied, ‘on whether you know exactly who your enemy is. Well the three of you obviously need my assistance, and I admit that it feels rather good to be non-sedentary again. So I will agree to join you. Anyway, there is not a hope in hell you’ll scramble your way north through all those forests without someone like me to guide you.’
Randur leapt across and slapped Munio on the back. ‘Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.’
‘Indeed,’ Munio said primly. ‘But I have some business in town this afternoon, so we may leave tomorrow morning.’
TWENTY-THREE
‘Individual from the Bloods – claimed he was their leader. Decision to be made on bolstering troop numbers. Said something about your preferences in men? Possibly staffing arrangements. Details of locations overleaf.’
Brynd had received the message earlier that day, telling him to meet the gang leader, Malum, outside the Victory Hole tavern at sunset. For a long time afterwards he held the piece of paper in his hands, staring into the distance.
At the specified time, he was loitering in the freezing cold by the quayside. The streets were again being treated with solution to flush away any remaining ice while the dreary evening skies filled with yet more snow. Lights from the bars could be seen tracing an arc along the rim of the harbour, but out towards the north, where the invasion would originate, there was nothing but darkness. The Victory Hole itself was becoming increasingly rowdy as traders and fishermen began lining up against the bar to talk shop in the half-light. Men, for the most part, shuffled past him huddled from the cold, many of them not wanting to make eye contact with a soldier, as if he was a bad omen. Brynd was fine with that.
Soon a hooded man with st
ubble shuffled up to Brynd. Expensive cut of clothing, thick grey woollen top, flashily tailored boots, the red mask: he could tell it was Malum.
‘I got your message,’ Brynd said.
‘I see you got a flair for stating the obvious, albino.’
‘You’ve reached a decision about your men helping the city in the coming war?’ Brynd asked.
‘I have. Neither the Bloods nor the Screams will join in this charade.’
Come on, you selfish fucker. ‘You realize that the city may fall because of such a decision? Because of such cowardice?’
‘Speak to me about cowardice?’
‘The fall of Villiren would be the start of something darker across the entire Archipelago. We’ve already lost one island, and one by one they’ll all fall. And if people just stand back it’ll happen a lot sooner.’
‘Problem is,’ Malum declared, ‘that none of us wants to fight alongside a man like you.’
‘A soldier of the Empire?’
‘Someone who’s not right. Not natural.’
‘Not sure I follow you, sir.’
Malum then explained about having the commander tracked, about him being spotted seeking out the company of other men for a fuck – about having that male prostitute located, and a confession made in front of witnesses, before the man was executed with a crossbow bolt through the skull.
This conversation was so surreal that Brynd’s heart rate tripled in an instant. As word by word followed, he retreated further into himself, panicking that his secret should be exposed in such a careless manner – to this thug of all people. Even if it was only one man’s word against another, that signed confession might destroy his career.
As Brynd’s hand moved to his sword, Malum snarled, ‘Fuck you think you’re doing? Reckon you can kill me here, you can think again. I’ve fifty men waiting within sight, and if you make a move they’ll hunt you down despite how fancy a fighter you think yourself. Anyway, with that confession released publicly, we’d ruin you and your whole fucking army.’
It might have been a bluff, all of this, but as Brynd’s military mind reduced the situation to probabilities and chances, he realized quickly that the odds were not in his favour. ‘What do you want?’ he growled.
‘Now you’re talking,’ Malum whispered, in a more accommodating tone. ‘You’ll provide me with several thousand Jamúns. Say, enough to buy most of the city? A different city, of course, since this one might not even be here in a few weeks.’
‘Why threaten the one man offering a hope of defending this place? I could save hundreds of thousands of lives.’
Tough to tell behind that mask, but it seemed the thug appeared to consider this question for a while.
Brynd listened to the boats tapping against one another in the wind, providing an endless, gentle drumbeat that could drive a man insane.
‘I’m a real man,’ Malum grunted finally, ‘someone the likes of you just wouldn’t understand.’ He gave some curt instructions about where to leave the money, warning him to come alone or else. With a final sneer, he then faded into fog.
Brynd felt a perfect stillness surrounding him. His world had just imploded.
*
Brynd poked his head into the officers’ quarters where several of his own men were slumped in chairs, either reading or playing cards at a table under a large map of the city. ‘A word, lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course, commander.’ Nelum set down his book, glanced at the others, who smirked as if he was in trouble. Someone joked, ‘Lavatory cleaning for the lieutenant,’ and the others laughed.
He bounded to his feet to follow Brynd.
Every footstep was loud, every breath clear and sharp as they moved along a corridor of the Citadel, heading outside to one of the walkways positioned behind the long crenellated battlement.
Late in the evening, and both moons were concealed by cloud. Only a few guards from the Dragoons were stationed up here, long-range archers with precise vision, the green and brown of their uniforms barely noticeable in this dim light. They saluted as the Night Guard soldiers passed them, curt and respectful, before returning their focus to the northern horizon.
Eventually Brynd and Nelum paused by a turret at the eastern edge of the Citadel, staring into the black distance. Taverns down below were emptying, with drunken songs and harmless screams from women.
‘Make of this information what you will, lieutenant,’ Brynd announced.
‘Go on.’ Nelum’s expression was sincere, and Brynd waited as long as he could.
‘Is everything all right, commander?’
He told him what had happened in succinct nuggets of information, being as discreet as he could, but ultimately coming clean about one fact: he was being blackmailed over a rumour that could corrupt everything they were working towards.
‘I see the predicament,’ Nelum said. ‘Can I enquire as to the nature of this rumour?’
The question lingered in the air.
Brynd said, ‘His accusations are of a personal nature.’
‘Which are?’
‘Suggestions of my affiliations with – I don’t need to tell you it’s utter rubbish of course – other men. Personally I suspect it’s merely an excuse for his gang not to fight alongside us.’ He gave a confident laugh. ‘But the problem is how to deal with things should such lies destabilize all we’ve been working towards. The guy is phenomenally well connected, and controls a large number of men.’
Nelum’s face remained expressionless, until Brynd could no longer bear to look at him. Rubbing his hands for warmth, he strolled a few paces away.
Eventually, his lieutenant spoke tentatively. ‘Such things . . . well, they happen in the armies, don’t they? I mean to say, that men bed with men when they’re abroad, so I’ve heard . . . Nothing is ever said of it the next day.’
‘I know that, you know that – nearly every soldier who’s been signed up for more than a year knows that it happens,’ Brynd growled, glaring at Nelum.
Nelum’s silence was intense.
‘These rumours are serious, enough to destroy the good name of the Night Guard, and that could rupture all our plans and defences.’
The lieutenant remained utterly expressionless, his breath clouding before his face. ‘It has not happened yet, has it? I say we take this man out.’
Brynd said, ‘He told me there are others who know about it, and that if he disappears, someone else will spread the false news.’
‘The fellow might be bluffing.’
‘But what do you think about it?’ Brynd turned to face him again, eager to gauge a reaction. It seemed important for any kind of response. ‘I know you’re a man with a passion for the Jorsalir teachings that don’t exactly welcome such doings. I need to ensure these lies don’t get out.’
‘None of my business what a soldier does in his or her spare time.’ Brisk tones, bitter feelings – all suggesting that he knew Brynd was lying. ‘You’re known as one of the ablest fighters in the service, and we all have to persevere despite whatever has been impugned.’
Brynd’s control snapped and he slammed his lieutenant against the wall, glaring. Nelum didn’t flinch. The two soldiers were assessing each other, waiting for the other’s next move. ‘They are rumours, OK? I told you only because I valued your fucking advice.’
The sloshing of the water down in the harbour seemed to bring Brynd back to his senses. He released his grip, muttering an apology, and rested his hands on the parapet, facing the coast.
‘Indeed. We should therefore prepare ourselves for different scenarios,’ Nelum continued, ignoring the incident, ‘but I think we should counter by circulating rumours of our own that there’s a move afoot to smear the honour of senior soldiers. We could suggest that it comes from enemy agents working for the invasion force, in order to weaken our defences.’
‘Good thinking. I don’t want to let this business interfere with our plans. Fucking hell, I’ve a city to save.’
&nb
sp; ‘You’ve a city to save?’
Things were happening in the gaps between their sentences. ‘We’ve,’ Brynd corrected himself quickly. ‘You think I should face Malum. If anything then happens to me, then I want you to take my place. I’ll want you to succeed me as commander of the Empire’s armies. I can assemble the appropriate documentation, but how would you feel about such a role?’
Shit, did he say all that now simply to obscure his guilt, to win the man over? Brynd’s mind began bubbling with paranoia.
‘Sir . . . of course,’ Nelum breathed. For a moment this normally verbose individual couldn’t seem to find words. ‘It’s overwhelming, and an honour . . . but you’re still here, still the most senior officer outside of Villjamur.’
And don’t you forget it. ‘Thank you for your time, lieutenant.’
*
‘Oh, sure, totally fuck that. We’ll just take the money and kill him, right?’ Malum grunted. ‘I mean, simple plans are always the most effective.’
JC laughed aloud, then the others – ten in all of the Bloods – joined in. There was a clashing of tankards, and then the spirit of the night subsided into low-level conversations.
Slouching on the chair in the corner of the tavern, Malum sharpened his messer blade on an oiled whetstone, while others began to make jokes in the dim candlelight. They were all going to be there, all ready to butcher the commander if he did not come up with the cash.
Butcher him, even if he did.
TWENTY-FOUR
Marysa threw punch after punch, weaving to and fro to avoid the approaching sweep of his arm, bending back and kicking in all the right postures. Then she stepped aside as the next student shuffled forwards to engage with the master, a bald and tightly muscled human with an expression of relentless serenity.
In a large, torch-lit, minimally furnished chamber with pinewood floors and heated by two woodstoves, the ten students in crimson garb were working through the offence techniques characteristic to Berja, a dark martial art based on tribal combat. The leaflets had promised increased physical fitness as well as expertise in self-defence and both had come in spades. She had already passed the first two levels in twenty days, though there were another ten still to go.
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