Nights of Villjamur (55 page)

Her sister now approached, councillors stepping behind, sipping flutes of wine. Rika wore a regal purple dress, more conservative in style than her own.

'Sister,' Rika said, 'how did you ever acquire such talent and skill? One might almost think you wore relics in your shoes to help you move so gracefully.'

Eir whispered the words, 'This young man taught me well,' to her sister, who began to regard the Folke islander in a new light.

'Well, Randur Estevu, it seems I have you to thank for making my sister the envy of every woman in this room.'

'An occupational hazard, my lady,' Randur offered, and smiled and bowed deeply before stepping aside to let the sisters talk alone.

The Empress leaned closer to her sibling. 'You seem rather tender towards each other, the two of you. Are you sure--?'

'Let's not talk about that now,' Eir said. 'Please.'

Rika eyed her carefully.

Eir changed the subject. 'You seem to have quite a crowd of councillors following you.' She indicated the men behind Rika.

'Yes, I feel I've begun to win them over to my way of thinking.'

A thoughtful silence fell between them. Eir could not help thinking again of the refugees and those suffering Caveside. This was Randur's doing, this change of perspective, and how different the world now seemed.

They separated and the evening rolled on towards the dance competition. The band began to build up the anticipation, and then the music stopped abruptly.

A sudden gasp from the crowd.

Whispers fluttered all around her.

A troop of soldiers had marched into the ballroom at its far end. Eir gripped Randur's arm nervously. What could possibly warrant such an intrusion? A dozen of the city guard approached her sister, surrounding her.

From behind these armed men, Chancellor Urtica himself emerged, dressed in his full Council regalia. He strolled towards the front of the ballroom where the band leader stood, fuming indignantly.

The chancellor waved him away, turning to face the crowd of dignitaries.

'Ladies and gentlemen, my apologies for the disruption,' Urtica began, projecting his voice to the far corners of the room, 'but I bring grave news. I regret that I must take Empress Jamur Rika and her sister into immediate custody.'

He then paused, as if he was an actor on stage, for further attention, and was greeted with a hushed confusion, as faces tilted towards Eir. The whole scene became a blur of disconnected images.

Urtica said, 'I have a document signed by both the Empress and her sister the Stewardess authorizing a mass execution of the refugees now encamped outside our gate.'

Several men advanced demanding explanations for the intrusion. Rows broke out, and the chancellor urged his military heavies forward.

Urtica palmed the air, remaining quite calm. 'In an emergency meeting of the Council late last night, it became apparent that substantial evidence was building to prove the incident had been arranged by the Empress - four witnesses in the Council, to name only a few. We could none of us stand by such a slaughter of the Empire's citizens, no matter how dire the current predicament. The Council has decided that the Empress should be removed from office, pending trial - a precautionary measure. We merely wish to escort them to more comfortable surroundings for further questioning on the matter.'

Shocked, Eir glanced over at Rika, who was staring calmly at the chancellor, a couple of soldiers gently but firmly holding her arms. If the Empress felt any fear, she was not prepared to show it.

Eir looked up at Randur beside her. 'It isn't true . . .'

'I know,' he said, bringing her closer to him as several of the soldiers approached them.

'Stay away from her,' Randur demanded, holding out his palm to deter them. There was a further disturbance behind as a few of the other guests attempted to help the Empress, but the soldiers restrained them, smacking faces and breaking fingers. They weren't messing around.

'Stand aside,' growled one of the men, pulling at the arm with which Randur held her.

'Leave her
the fuck
alone!' Randur threw a punch at one of the men, connecting with his jaw.

'Please, stop!' Eir shrieked in alarm.

Two other soldiers grabbed both of Randur's arms, while a third set to work striking him repeatedly in the stomach, with swift and low and focused punches. When they finally released him, he collapsed to the floor, groaning. Another soldier kicked him across the mouth so that he spat blood across the ballroom floor.

'Please!' Eir cried out. 'Let him be, I'm begging you. I'll come, just stop beating him.' She couldn't bear to think of what else they might do to him.

As the soldiers dragged her away, blades now drawn, she looked back at her lover sprawled on the floor, his hand held out uselessly.

As if nothing had happened, the chancellor continued his speech, intoxicated by his own rhetoric.

'I have taken it upon myself to save our nation from such a perfidious breach of our sacred laws of hospitality. They will go on trial in the morning, and the public will be made fully aware of their attempted acts of terror. I can assure you, we will bring these two evil women to a suitable justice.'

Eir heard these final words as the doors shut behind her.

How could this happen?

Why tonight?

The guards that had once protected her now hauled her, frightened for her life, into the darkness.

The soldiers had landed their ships on the ice sooner than Brynd had anticipated. Firm ground was still some way to go, but the ice was so thick here that the horses could be safely unloaded.

The horizon was imperceptible, everything cloaked in all shades of grey and white. At least it wasn't snowing, nor was there any particular wind. A lucky time to be fighting, if you could see anything good in it.

With the fresh recruits in the Night Guard, and the extra forces of the Dragoons, Empire soldiers rode together at a steady pace towards Tineag'l. The two hundred men and women advanced quickly through communities of refugees carrying their worldly belongings to the farthest fringe of their own territory. These people had barely stepped out of their villages, and now were struggling for a new existence, finding new boundaries to their lives. Brynd dispatched twenty of the Second Dragoons to see that these people got safely to the numerous vessels approaching the perimeter of the ice sheets to collect them.

To save causing them unnecessary alarm, Jurro was requested to proceed at some distance from the oncoming refugees. This he did with good grace, though they could doubtless see his hulking figure some distance off.

Brynd took a brief opportunity to interview some of the refugees, hoping to learn more of the unknown enemy. But most were escaping in advance of rumours rather than as a result of first-hand confrontation. Younger boys had the look of confused excitement on their faces, and discussed the possibility of the new race, of a rogue army, of Varltungs, of beings from other worlds, of gods. In the absence of fact, his men would have to ascertain for themselves what lay ahead.

For hours they rode on across the desolate island. Empty towns and villages were all that remained, framed by these vacant-looking skies. The wind picked up a little, stirring a fine powder that clouded the air immediately around them. They wrapped scarves around their faces, vision now coming through a slit.

All that Brynd might have learned about the geography was deeply covered with snow now. They could have been travelling in an alien world.

'We'll keep riding until we find something,' Brynd decided, after being questioned about their current objective. He needed a garuda, but there had been none on standby in Villiren.

Brynd cantered up to the Dawnir who loomed over the men about him. 'Is this everything you really wanted, Jurro - the military life, as we know it? Not always the most exciting experience.'

'It is for me. You forget I've been staring at the same four walls for so many years. None of the previous Emperors would allow me to leave my confinement.'

'Any of this prompt some memories then?' Brynd said. 'Nothing surfacing in that big head of yours?'

'Nothing, I fear, so far.'

'And what're you hoping to find?'

'Anything will do.'

Now wasn't the time to be deciphering Jurro's existential crisis.

Another quarter of an hour, and they were riding north again, and Brynd decided to spread out sections of the First Dragoons east and west, hoping to ascertain if there were any signs of life. They would converge at designated locations at every bell to report on any discoveries.

*

It wasn't long until bad news came. Brynd had waited for it long enough. First, a private had gone missing beyond the town of Portastam, which lay at the centre of the island's eastern plains. His riderless horse trotted to a troop of Dragoon soldiers out on a scout. Three followed the horse's hoof prints to investigate. Only one returned, caked in blood and slumped in his saddle. Finally his unit managed to persuade the shivering man to dismount, revealing that his breast plate had been severed cleanly by something phenomenally sharp.

He did not speak for an hour.

When the words came they were initially incoherent, like the mad incantations of a disturbed beggar on the streets of Villjamur. He juddered. Then he managed to gibber about carnage and slaughter.

Brynd quickly organized his remaining troops and readied them for combat.

Blavat spent a moment enhancing the metal armour of the Night Guard with a
vald
, but she could only strengthen Brynd's sabre in such a short space of time. He hoped that the technology of the Ancients would last long enough.

The plan would be to stay as one staggered unit, with the two flanks moving forwards, the centre slightly behind to form a pincer. The soldiers adjusted their armour and withdrew their weapons while the snow came and went in assiduous gusts.

Brynd shouted some final orders and the Jamur forces rode on.

*

Cresting a hill, they were presented with a small group of unknown creatures. In the thick of the snow it was impossible to determine what they were, but they were massed there like a regimental unit at the base of the slope, about fifty of them in all, and nothing else as far as the horizon. Brynd had to make a snap decision either to retreat or to charge, because his men were clearly visible now - and Nelum gave a nod to confirm what Brynd himself was thinking, so the call was given, and the Imperial troops, who outnumbered the creatures heavily, rode headlong into combat, hooves pounding against the snow.

Brynd's flank spread out along the side with Apium's waiting briefly then following suit, forming the classic pattern of a pincer attack.

The creatures stood their ground, tilting forward in a uniform movement.

Fifty of them versus over two hundred of the best Jamur soldiers.

Brynd's horse closed the distance to pull ahead of the opposite flank, instinct leading at this pace of combat. He brought down his cultist-enhanced sabre flaring purple through the falling snow and cleaved the first creature's skull. It buckled to its knees, but still was taller than any human. The other flanks connected, driving their horses over the enemy. The black armour of their enemy was now distinct against the snow as they lashed out with their claws when the Jamur forces were within range. Brynd could hear his troops howling and grunting all around him as he hacked his way through the enemy. Their shells cracked open and buckled under the ferocious impact of his blows. At first they seemed surprised more than anything, presenting not so tough a challenge, but his soldiers began dropping too. From the corner of his eye he spotted the head of a woman Dragoon getting caught in a giant claw and then her skull exploding as it clamped shut. These weren't the usual tribesmen armed with a few arrows.

Soon horses were collapsing around him in spectacular numbers, slamming their riders to the ground, where they continued to fight desperately. Brynd's flank was now severely diminished. But in the end the sheer number of Jamur troops began to prevail, and the last of the horrific creatures were slashed down.

As Brynd dragged his horse out of the bloody scrimmage, a quick head count told him there were only around a hundred Jamur fighters left in all. A hundred of his soldiers had died against just fifty enemy troops.

The survivors, men and women, were pulled from the pulpy mass of the dead and dying, and it wouldn't be long until the snow covered this dark stain on the landscape. Brynd was greatly relieved that most of his twenty Night Guard were still alive. He couldn't spot Apium though, so rode up to enquire of Nelum.

'There,' Nelum pointed over to one side.

Apium lay beside his horse, still alive, but in obvious pain, one foot still caught in the stirrups. Brynd jumped down, unhooked the foot, noting that his friend had prised off his breast plate and was gingerly fingering his chest. From the look of it, a fragment of enemy carapace had penetrated through his ribs.

Snowflakes melted on the febrile exposed skin.