The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (46 page)

‘They wouldn’t do that,’ Coren replied.

‘They’re insane,’ Jeza said. ‘If they take control of the city, you’ll need to buy yourself a new house somewhere else. The commander had plans for stability. This
Malum guy is crazy. I’ve seen the look in his eyes.’

‘Can’t the commander sort it out when he gets back from the battle?’

‘There might be nothing left for him by that point. It could be all over – or worse, a second war for Villiren. I don’t want that.’

‘All right, then what do you suggest we should do about it?’

‘Get the wasps out.’

‘What, precisely, would a few Mourning Wasps do?’

‘We can scare the shit out of the gangs. We can taunt them, maybe move them away from the Citadel, just keep them from causing too much damage. I know we’re in the business of
palaeomancy and the likes, but there are a few cheap
Brenna
-based relics lying around that we can use.’

‘I don’t know . . .’

Jeza took his hands and stared pleadingly at him. ‘Just this once, will you help me? One last time.’

*

The numbers of invaders thinned out during the day but, when darkness came again, the advancing gangs, used to their nocturnal lifestyle, returned in full force. It seemed to be
the opposite of siege warfare in the military, whereby campaigns were conducted in the light of day. Now the gangs brought climbing equipment, ladders, ropes and hooks, determined not to be
outdone.

Randur gave instructions to make sure the windows were all blocked on the lower level and, from the floors above, four soldiers fired arrows or crossbow bolts at those trying to scale the
heights.

Is it really possible to defend this place against so many people?

Another hour passed in which the gangs tried repeatedly to gain access to higher levels, but they were not skilled in the arts of combat like this. Perhaps on a street corner they could dispatch
bodies with ease, lurching out of the darkness in stealth, but here their efforts fell apart. Time and time again those who tried to ascend were shot and fell to ground.

Randur almost began to feel confident, up until the point where they began to hear more explosions – first they seemed like fireworks, but then they could feel massive detonations
ricocheting around the Citadel. Each was spaced a few minutes apart, and followed by a silence in which people tried to assess the damage. Randur consulted Blavat at this point, but the cultist
declared that she had hardly any relics left.

They sealed the level and the group moved up to the obsidian room, the war chamber in which the commander had planned the defence of Villiren. Maps, charts and diagrams were strewn across the
table and pinned up on the wall. From here they could see the harbour.

‘Only another couple of floors left before we’re screwed,’ Randur observed as they moved out onto one of the viewing balconies.

‘There’s the roof after that,’ Eir said. ‘From these plans, it doesn’t appear there are many ways to get up there.’

‘They’ll find a way,’ Randur muttered despondently.

‘We’ll have none of that talk, Randur Estevu,’ Eir cautioned. ‘We have held these thugs off for a whole day on our own. We can last a little longer yet.’

Randur withdrew his sword and laid it on the table. ‘I’ll be ready for them, when they come, that much is certain.’

Eir repeated the act with her own blade and laid it alongside his own. ‘We’ll do this together.’

The young soldier, Drendan, entered the room short of breath. ‘Lady Eir, sir, they’re about to breach the next floor, which isn’t as well protected I’m afraid. It
doesn’t have the defensive capabilities.’

‘What does the situation look like?’ Randur asked. ‘How many are coming?’

‘There are only dozens of them at this level, compared to hundreds down below. I know for certain the gangs are now moving freely on the floors they have got to – and
looting.’

‘I hope the buggers haven’t got into the basement levels – that’s where most of the coin is kept,’ Randur said.

Eir shook her head. ‘The commander ensured that those are kept safe by several relics. It would take a decent cultist an hour to even get access to the room . . .’

Just then they heard a droning sound from outside; gentle at first, then something much harsher. It was soon matched by the noise of the crowds down below.

‘What new madness have they found to use on us now?’ Randur said despairingly.

They ran to the nearest window that overlooked the courtyard, where, to their astonishment, men were surging to corners of the courtyard, pressing themselves against the walls.

Two enormous insects – no, two enormous insects with
riders
– were roaming the courtyard at considerable speed, darting this way and that, lurching from one side to another.
People were now screaming in fear as the helmeted riders attacked them, forcing them up against one wall before attacking others. There were explosions every few moments, bright flashes of purple
light.

‘Well, that’s an interesting turn of events,’ Randur laughed.

‘What are those things?’ Eir said. ‘Are they some of the new aliens?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Randur replied. ‘They’re helping us, I’ll say that much. Just look at them go!’

The sight was impressive. To see people who moments earlier were charged with violence now running like frightened children was absurdly amusing. It must have continued for the better part of an
hour, the chases within the stone confines, the insects sashaying and skittering about with remarkable manoeuvrability. Though a handful stood to resist, there was nowhere for the gangs to run but
back the way they had come and, eventually, that’s where many of them went.

Randur and Eir, along with a few of the soldiers, sprinted across to a room that gave them a view of the entrance to the Citadel. There they could see the bulk of the invasion force being
scattered across the streets, dispersed back into Villiren.

‘I think we’ve done it,’ Randur said, ‘or rather – whatever those things are, them and us, we’ve all done it.’

Any jubilation was short-lived. Two quick explosions sounded.

‘There are still more within the building,’ Drendan cautioned. ‘There could be hundreds already in the Citadel.’

Another explosion, this one louder, this one clearly signalling that another level was about to be broken into.

Randur closed his eyes and wondered just how much longer he’d be alive. Sure he’d had a few scrapes in his short life, and been in more than one tricky situation, but there was a
slow inevitability about what was about to happen.

‘We retreat again,’ Eir ordered.

‘What about . . . ?’ he begun.
Rika
, he thought, but then thought now was not the time.

Most of the group, including the cultist, took what supplies they could, blankets and extra layers of clothing, equipment to make a fire, and headed out onto the roof of the Citadel, making sure
the way up was blocked and heavily guarded. There was shelter up here, of sorts – high stone walls that acted as relief from the wind. From the crenellations they could observe the situation
on the ground, which was now calm after those monstrous insects had done their work.

They set up camp, organized themselves, and started a fire. They bedded down, surrounded in blankets, huddled alongside the fire like the homeless. Randur held Eir in his arms, more than ever
appreciative that he had experienced a good and interesting life with her. Three soldiers took watch, their crossbows by their sides, ready to shoot anyone who would dare to scale the roof.

There they waited and prayed for morning to come.

Brynd headed into one of the large towns of Folke, having left the Mourning Wasps on the outskirts.

First the Night Guard had reported back to Artemisia’s elders that all the threats from the Policharos had been eliminated and Frater Mercury had indeed done what he had claimed he would
do. Then the remaining Night Guard briefly mourned the loss of their comrades, though there was not time for the appropriate military rituals.

Brynd had peered once again into the cauldrons, and could see that the battle had indeed changed. There was no longer any precise organization to the enemy ranks. There seemed to be little
discipline, no communication; the regiments moved back and forth like ocean swells. Yet the allied forces were still sustaining massive losses.

One particularly large mass of warriors was heading along a road towards Lantuk, a major settlement on Folke, a gateway city to the island.

He could watch no longer. ‘We’re going down there,’ he ordered. ‘Within a day it looks as though the onslaught will reach Lantuk. It’s the first big settlement in a
chain of large urban areas.’

‘They will drift away within a week,’ Artemisia said. ‘There is no central hub, no more instructions.’

‘Those warriors can still kill, can’t they?’ Brynd snapped.

‘They can.’

‘Then thousands of my people will still die needlessly. We’re going down to stop them reaching Lantuk.’

Artemisia looked at him impassively. ‘As you wish.’

*

The Night Guard took the Mourning Wasps down and left them a short distance from the moderately fortified city. When the people saw the Empire soldiers approaching the gates,
they opened up and cheered in their own soldiers, welcoming them into the muddy central plaza.

It was early morning, and Brynd and the rest of the Night Guard were already shattered. He had dispatched garudas to shift dozens of Dragoon regiments into planned formations, but to plan
further he demanded maps of the ground around Lantuk from the library.

With a central citadel not unlike Villiren, and thin crenellated walls, it was a relatively weak position; though it possessed nowhere near the level of defence of a city like Villjamur, its
real benefit was to be found in the landscape. Lantuk was fortunate in that the only road to it lay in a steep-sided valley, which meant that the coming hordes would be forced through a funnel of
land, a fact that pleased Brynd immensely.

It would make the combat more manageable.

He decided to issue more missives via garudas, informing all Imperial regiments based nearby to travel immediately to the western approach to Lantuk. Certain regiments were to station themselves
around the two large hills bordering the road, cutting off any difficult, uphill attacks around the sides. Artemisia’s people, too, would scour the hilltops to prevent any access from
above.

*

The garudas had done their jobs well. All the nearby troops, stationed within a mile of the city, were gathering, passing from the eastern side of Lantuk and heading into the
western valley beyond. Within two hours, four thousand soldiers had moved here from the surrounding garrisons and the city; it wasn’t much, and how many of them were part-timers and not
professional soldiers, Brynd did not know. For a good number of them it would probably be their first taste of battle.

The Night Guard stationed themselves at the very front, in full battle regalia, new shields on their arms and swords at their sides. Behind them stood seven hundred Dragoon veterans. Each side
of the road two steep hillsides towered above to a height of a few hundred feet. The landscape was littered with spindly bushes, snow and rocks, but Brynd had ordered four hundred archers to climb
up and he could see them now, dotted on the slopes above. He had decided to leave the Mourning Wasps in the city to rest: they would be no good in close combat battles like the one coming.

‘Sir!’ Brug shouted, and gestured to the west. The remaining Night Guard snapped to attention, catching Brynd’s eye and he followed their gazes to the road in front of
them.

Up ahead, he could see the blue figure of Artemisia running back down the road, followed by many others like her, all of similar blue skin and warrior garb. As expected, there were other
creatures too, all hominids, some he had seen before, a few he had not.

‘At ease,’ he ordered his comrades.

A quick count and Brynd estimated the new additions were nearing a hundred in all – not ideal, but better than nothing.

‘Any news?’ Brynd enquired.

‘The Okun have mostly scattered,’ she replied. ‘There is chaos on the beaches, but more organization inland. Creatures are swarming across the countryside, but they seem to
know that there are dense populations this way. They were given one message, we believe – to cleanse these islands of people. That is what they will continue to do.’

‘Have you stationed units around the hills?’

‘I have,’ Artemisia confirmed. ‘Two thousand.’

Brynd breathed a sigh of relief. The hills would not be overrun with so many defenders on such difficult terrain. That meant the only way for miles around would be through this wide path along
the bottom of the valley; however, if they broke through here they would have free passage through all the cities and towns on the island.

‘Let’s send a scout up ahead to tell us of their arrival.’

*

They waited until mid-afternoon and there was still no sign of the scout returning. The sun was concealed behind the hillside, leaving the thousands of soldiers in the cold
shade. Spears were being brought forward and stockpiled.

‘What’s keeping him so long?’ Sergeant Tiendi asked.

‘He’ll get here when he’s seen something,’ Brynd replied.

They regarded the distance a little longer. The road only stretched so far before arcing out of sight. Brynd could perceive noises in the distance, now, but could see nothing . . .

No, wait
. . .
What are they?

He could see the tops of siege towers.

‘They’re definitely here,’ Brug said. ‘We can hear them.’

‘Fetch a horse,’ Brynd ordered.

One was summoned, and a few minutes later the reins of a brown mare from the Dragoons were handed to him. Brynd jumped up and nudged her forward, racing along the road, through a chill wind.

A few hundred yards later he pulled for her to stop. He could sense the vibrations in the earth now, could hear the low-pitched horns sounding in the distance; the sheer noise of footsteps on
the ground was intense, as thousands upon thousands of enemy infantry were being funnelled into the valley. Monstrous creatures loomed up above the ranks, pulling even taller machines of war.