The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (15 page)

Brynd waved his hand, stood up and said, ‘I’ve got my own, thanks,’ and unsheathed his sabre. It glimmered briefly with cultist sorcery and the lad simply stared at it in
awe.

‘Now we want you to strike Coren as hard as you can manage.’

‘Are you sure?’ Brynd asked. ‘I didn’t get to the top of the military without being fairly useful with a blade.’

‘Go on,’ Jeza said, ‘it’s quite all right. This is the whole point. Just use your blade the way you would do normally – on the battlefield or in a duel or
whatever.’

‘But only on the armour,’ Coren laughed awkwardly, slapping his protection. His face turned sour. ‘No, really.’

Coren took a wide stance and held his arms out away from his body. At first Brynd made a quick, effortless stab towards him. His blade pinged off, and Coren did not move.

He beamed. ‘Go on.’

‘All right,’ Brynd said. First of all he walked around to see where the body armour was fitted, so that he wouldn’t injure him, and then he commenced with some more vigorous
moves, striking the body armour in various zones, harder and harder, until he began to break sweat.

Coren stood there, his eyes closed, as Brynd continued this mock-assault. Brynd tuned in to his enhanced strength and began using the same force as on the battlefield. Coren hardly moved and the
body armour did not even show signs of scarring.

Brynd ceased his attack, just a little breathless, and sheathed his sword. Once he regained his composure, he asked, ‘What material is this?’ and tapped the breastplate.
‘It’s not even dented.’

‘There’s more,’ Coren said. ‘See how light this is.’ He lifted the body armour off his torso with remarkable ease – for the same size piece of equipment made
from metal, it would have required another to help with its removal.

Brynd asked, ‘Where did you get this from?’

‘We made it,’ Jeza said. Then she slowly explained the process behind its construction.

‘It’s made from Okun shell?’ Brynd asked. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘The concept . . . it’s abhorrent.’

‘No, no,’ Jeza continued. She walked around calmly and waved to test pieces. ‘One is the Okun shell, the other is a replica of its . . .
fabric.
We’ve used, um,
what you might call cultist energy to re-create it. It’s
not
the same thing – you wouldn’t actually be wearing an Okun shell, far from it, and you wouldn’t even know
it until you told someone.’

‘I fought against these things, you see. Relentless and brutal – like nothing I’ve
ever
witnessed before. They possessed such power and killed so many of us.’ His
mind flashed to the combat within the narrow lanes of the city: blood spurting against high stone walls, soldiers being savaged, their remains being stomped into cobbles; then the smell of burning
flesh on the funeral pyres night after night as innumerable souls were set free.

‘And just think,’ Jeza said, ‘if you were able to use such a negative in acting for good. This substance is tougher and lighter than anything the military currently uses,
right?’

‘Right,’ Brynd admitted.

‘We could make this armour for you,’ she said. ‘We can’t promise in what quantity just yet, but enough to mean something.’

Brynd asked to hold the specimen and studied it in immense detail, tilting it this way and that, attempting to bend it with his strength. ‘If I gave specifications,’ he said,
‘if I provided samples of our own armour, the design and so on, would you be able to meet those requirements?’

‘Sure.’ Jeza looked across to the others, who remained silent during this discussion. ‘We’re even working on designs for other parts of the body, too – legs, arms,
head.’

How could such young minds produce this quality of technology?

Brynd’s mind began fizzing with potentials. He imagined row upon row of soldiers equipped with this war gear; fast-moving ground troops who would be well-protected and more mobile than
ever before. There would be less fatigue, fewer casualties.

Brynd extended his hand to Jeza. She looked at it for a moment, uncertain of what to do.

‘We’ve not yet talked money,’ Jeza said, and moved her hands to her hips. ‘But I’d be happy to do that as well.’

Brynd raised an eyebrow.
Smart. Businesslike
.
Took guts for her to say that.
‘We’ll talk money soon enough. I need to speak to the accountants before I can make any
offers. Be assured you have me on board. I’d like to visit again, very soon, and see what more you can offer. How soon can you make two more? A day, two, three?’

‘Now we know we can do that in a day easily. We’ve done all the hard work.’

‘Good, because this . . .’ he held up the armour again, ‘this could change things.’

‘Artemisia . . .’ Brynd called to her where she was stood on one of the balconies of the Citadel. The blue warrior-woman was staring out across the sea. It was a
grey day, with sleet-filled skies and a rough surf. Whereas at street level the repairs to the fac¸ades of buildings suggested some sort of progress, from this vantage point much of the
wreckage of Villiren could still be seen. Ruined building after ruined building rolled down to the shattered harbour front; many were devoid of interiors, others were propped up by scaffolding. It
was in this region where Brynd had witnessed the ferocity of the other world meeting his own; it was hard to shake those horrors from his mind.

‘Commander,’ Artemisia replied. She continued to regard the cityscape. A gust of wind buffeted her, sending her hair spiralling around her shoulders. Those two large blades never
left her back, in clear contradiction to the regulations he was trying to establish. ‘How does it go with the money men?’ she asked.

‘As positive as can be expected from dealing with their sort,’ he replied, now standing alongside her. ‘They do not have an altruistic bone in their body. They exist solely to
make themselves richer and, if society just so happens to be reconstructed at the same time, then that is simply a happy coincidence.’

‘I am surprised,’ Artemisia continued, ‘that this is the state of affairs here. Where I come from, we do not allow so much wealth to sit in the hands of so few – that way
leads to great power imbalances, and it is very difficult to get things done. Our elders are experienced, yes, but they rotate their roles with newcomers each cycle.’

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.