Nights of Villjamur

by Mark Charan Newton

  Moments later, Urtica stepped over to a tapestry on the wall, peeled it back. A view of the city was unveiled, and he watched the garuda flying off across the spires and bridges, gliding out towards the east.

  Urtica brooded on the predicament. He could tell no one of his negligible manipulations, of course - people just did not like to see the bigger picture. Because of the evidence provided by hired tribal thugs at Daluk Point, this Empire had now been offered an excuse to expand. The loss of a few Night Guard soldiers proved only that they weren't as wondrous as they liked to think they were, the posturing idiots. The Empire now had an opportunity to take more resources, more wood and food and ore, in defiance of the Freeze. They could claim another nation in the east, and this ancient Jamur Empire would become even more glorious.

  That was the bigger picture.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Starlight was all that was available to guide Brynd around this labyrinth of streets. They turned and twisted at various angles, and Brynd recalled how when he had first explored them years ago, he had been puzzled how they backed around on themselves, always leading him in the opposite direction. A shortcut here, a hidden path there, and you found yourself arriving at unusual junctures, some new territory not only in locational terms but even within your own psychology.

  But tonight was different. He knew exactly where he was headed.

  There was a permanent ethereal sheen to the stone from which the city was built, and to travellers it would look like some ghost construction, nothing real. He might have been walking in a dream.

  He eventually found the right door, knocked, waited. It was answered by Papus herself, the leader of the Order of the Dawnir, clothed totally in grey, with only her face visible beneath her hood, which she held down as she stepped out into the moonlight. Under her chin, her medallion was just visible, though its symbol of an upright palm held no meaning for him.

  'I received your message,' she whispered, her words turning to mist in the chilly air.

  'Do you think you can help?' A sense of urgency had crept into his voice. Shifting weight from foot to foot in the cold, he rubbed his hands together impatiently.

  'Possibly.' She glanced into the darkness behind, closed the door and stepped out into the alleyway.

  They continued through the night, stepping over mounds of litter left at the rear of clustered housing, and it took them an hour to make their way to Caveside.

  The city docks were used daily by the fishermen who pushed out their kayaks or larger vessels in constant relays, day and night. Each hunted different species of fish from the contiguous seas, sometimes beyond. Their catch fed the city, and despite the closure of the gates, the docks would remain open, now the only free route in and out of the city. Soldiers were stationed everywhere to prevent the smuggling in of refugees on boats. City guards, recognizing their commander, greeted him accordingly. Through a tunnel of houses to his left he could see starlight glistening above the water.

  Papus herself had been quiet, preferring silence to conversation, and Brynd was fine with this. He had a lot to be thinking about anyway. They'd worked together before, and Brynd had already told her of his next mission, of his requirements.

  Most cultists desired little involvement with Empire business. They were a complete mystery at times, had their own agendas full of hidden intelligence, and the balance of power could shift between their orders overnight, leaving a whole new arrangement to be negotiated. He knew less about their relics, of course, since they used their own methods to keep them secret. They had done so for thousands of years, and some of these orders were as old as Villjamur itself.

  He led Papus to one of the large granite buildings at the far end of the harbour, a featureless structure with no windows at the front. He knocked on the door, which was answered by a female soldier from the Second Dragoons. She saluted him.

  'Are they here?'

  'Aye, commander. Downstairs.'

  She stood to one side as the two of them stepped inside. This was one of the military gaols, and they entered a room about fifty paces long lit by four lanterns. Metal bars lined one entire side, behind which waited the figures he had ordered to be brought in.

  'Here they are,' Brynd gestured. 'Draugr.'

  'Draugr are just myths.' Papus stepped closer.

  The imprisoned figures were difficult to see in the dim light, all huddled together against the rear wall.

  'We've found them here on Jokull, wandering around aimlessly, though another group attacked my unit earlier - and I noticed one at Daluk Point, though I'd no idea what it was then.' He came and stood next to her, resting one hand on a bar. On the floor was a puddle of black liquid, which he assumed to have seeped from one's wounds. 'One of my men described them as draugr, and he's quite an expert on such things. Anyway, it seems these things were already dead when they attacked us on that occasion, but this lot seem fairly harmless.'

  Papus didn't react, merely eyed the group for some time before she said, 'Bring one closer to me. I hardly believe such myths survive on Jokull.'

  Brynd called out, and three uniformed women unlocked the gate and, with caution, ushered one of the creatures out. The thing stood motionless as Papus examined it closely, trying to deduce answers. Brynd followed her gaze as she moved the lantern up, down, sideways, skimming light across different parts of the naked torso. This one would once have been a woman, her body now exceptionally anaemic; her skin was stretched taut around bone, so the ribs extruded as if she were a famine victim. Yet beyond minor visual signs of putrefaction, she was still alive.

  'Can you tell me anything?' Brynd said.

  'Well, this one certainly appears dead.' Papus replaced the lantern on the wall. 'Yes. Quite dead,' she repeated.

  The three soldiers returned the draugr to its cell, then returned upstairs out of earshot.

  'I don't think it's actually a draugr,' Papus said, 'not in the true sense, at least.'

  'No?' Brynd folded his arms expectantly.

  'No, I think these have been brought back to life by other means.'

  'But how?' Brynd asked. 'And by whom?' He watched Papus, and could see the confusion registering on her face. It struck him then that she was clueless. For someone of such advanced knowledge, that was alarming.

  'I don't know how exactly, but I've my suspicions about who is responsible.'

  'Who?'

  'Dartun Sur, of the Order of the Equinox.'

  Brynd was surprised at the answer, a cultist so close to Villjamur. 'He keeps a very low profile normally, doesn't he?'

  'He does, yes, but this is very much like something he'd be capable of. I've heard rumours of him being able to preserve life; though that sort of thing isn't common knowledge, not even in our cultist circles.'

  Pretentious cow. You're only human, like the rest of us. Brynd said, 'Well, your circles aren't our circles, Papus, so please enlighten me.'

  Papus appeared to ignore his sarcasm. She was probably too concerned with feeling as unknowledgeable on the subject as he was. 'Well, this isn't right if these creatures are being used to . . . kill.'

  'And once they start killing, the bastards are difficult to stop,' Brynd muttered. 'The ones who attacked us had to be chopped in pieces, and burned, just to be sure. If it's really your friend Dartun, then he's breeding them to kill.'

  'You think we're all friends?' Papus asked. 'You should know better, commander. Anyway, I suspect he's up to something serious at the moment.'

  'Something I should know about?'

  'No, this is strictly a cultist issue, so it can be solved by us alone, commander.'

  Brynd's tone became more menacing. 'I know you sects have had your fights and bickering in the past, but so far you've always kept it to yourselves - that's fine. Now, you're affecting the rest of us, and you're endangering the lives of Empire soldiers. And Bohr knows what you're doing to ordinary citizens out in the country.'

  'I'm not doing anything,' Papus snapped. 'There's some other trickery
being misused, involving some ancient relic no doubt. But I now thank you for making me aware of it.' She turned away.

  'What, you're just going?' Brynd said, surprised at how annoyed she was getting.

  'And what did you honestly expect me to do, commander?' she said, frowning. 'I've told you, this is some ritual I have no experience of.'

  'Can't you help us at all?' Brynd said. 'I've got to leave the city shortly, and I'll be out of Villjamur for some time. I'd prefer to know that something was being done meanwhile to investigate this matter, because I've no idea if we'll come across any more of these things. This lot may seem pretty docile, but they can transform into savage killers. They're not to be taken lightly.' He grasped one of the bars as he gazed at the draugr again. 'There are too many strange things happening these days. It's as if this ice brings with it a certain madness.'

  'I'll do what I can, Commander Lathraea, but not for your sake, or even the city's. This business has much larger implications, if Dartun really has gained access to the elements of life and death. There are things that could change the world as we know it. Think on it, commander. If people can be brought back to life in such quantities, think of the implications.' Papus drew her cloak around her and walked silently up the stairs.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Given all the hysteria of a new Empress arriving in Villjamur, Eir had hoped for a better night of celebrations. It was now days after her father's funeral, but this final evening of celebrations had been talked about and anticipated so highly by everyone from councillors to servants. People in the city had been looking for anything to hang their good mood on given the assault of ice, and Rika's new position had certainly offered them that.

  But as the evening's festivities died away, Eir found herself seated at a table being lectured on how the general behaviour of ladies in Villjamur had diminished of late. Lord Dubek was a cousin's stepfather, a gruff old man dressed in the same dreary blue garments he always wore. Though nearing fifty, he was rumoured to have a keen eye for younger women. As his vision drifted across her exposed shoulders, she pulled up her green velvet gown and glowered at him.

  'Thing is,' he said, swilling a cup of red wine, 'we live in an age with little war. Your generation is ruined by that. You've all grown up without hardly ever seeing real fear in your parents' eyes . . .' He brushed down his moustache, and leaned in a little closer.

  As she looked across the hall for more interesting company, her vision settled on Randur Estevu, her instructor. He had nestled himself in among a group of ladies of Balmacara, regaling them with some improbable anecdote, no doubt. Amid the ripples of female laughter, he stood, and it was easy to see how familiar he was with them, touching their arms, nodding in earnest at whatever they said to him. A lingering look, kisses on the hand, smiles as choreographed as his dance.

  She wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

  That man possessed more than an air of mystery, especially since he often went sloping off into the city late at night, Caveside of all places, and what could he possibly want there? Yet he was a good instructor of both swordsmanship and dancing, and Eir realized she had learned a lot from him, even though she would hate to admit it.

  The gaggle of ladies dispersed, leaving Randur alone with one other, the Lady Iora, a woman twice his age. Eir frowned at this. Although Lady Iora was an attractive woman, there was no longer any spring in her step. A bad narrative raced just behind those sad eyes. It was well known that Lady Iora was a recent widow, her husband having been found dead beneath a naked, if somewhat mortified, servant girl back in Villiren. It was a matter of heart, they said, or rather its failure, and despite the irony, Lady Iora had then sold her husband's estate, having decided to settle in one of those fine old apartments on one of Villjamur's higher levels before the Freeze took a grip.

  Eir watched with growing suspicion as Randur clasped the ageing beauty's hands in his own.

  He leaned towards her as if telling her rare and private things. She nodded and they both stood up to make for a discreet exit.

  On a sudden instinct Eir decided to follow.

  *

  Having grabbed a black cloak, Jamur Eir stood in the shadows outside Randur's room. Only moments ago she had witnessed Lady Iora, in dishevelled clothing, walk off down the corridor.

  Eir didn't know why she was still waiting here, as though expecting something else - and why was she not asleep, like everyone else in Balmacara? Why was she, a princess of the blood, hovering outside some island boy's chamber? She didn't even like him that much. Sure, he was good to look at, in some vaguely feminine way, but his arrogance diminished any real attraction: the way he'd strut - not walk, but strut - around the halls like he owned the place, like he deserved to live here.

  Maybe she was interested in his life, because, after all, Eir had spent her entire childhood being protected, housed in this place with guards to ensure no one might hurt her. This was all well and good, but it was certainly tedious at times. She remembered when she and Rika used to occupy themselves playing games along these corridors, while their parents would argue. She had seen very little of the far-flung regions her family governed. Dragged around, heavily protected by her teachers, to look at boring old buildings, there was little chance to meet men, and those she did encounter always seemed too petrified to talk to her.

  But this Randur was someone who was finally interesting. The fact that she'd heard through servants' gossip that he went to the caves made him more so. What was it he got up to? For some unaccountable reason she wanted to find this out, but it looked like nothing was going to happen tonight.

  No sooner had she thought that, when the door opened. Randur stepped out.

  She pursued him down the corridor, her careful footsteps whispering over the tiles. Guards queried her route, but she lied to each of them, stating a Night Guard soldier was to meet her shortly. For a place that pretended to be so secure, it seemed remarkably easy to slip away.

  *

  It took Randur half an hour to reach the Garuda's Head. The door was open, as it nearly always was, throwing a square of light on the street outside. There was little noise from within, but Denlin sat at a table with a fat man, several cards laid out before them under the glow of lanterns. Denlin noticed Randur's entrance, but remained focused on his game.

  A crowd stood around them, whispering amid urgent laughter.

  The fat man he played with, dressed in a scruffy brown tunic, held his head in his hands. There were beads of sweat across his forehead as he stared at the cards with his mouth slightly open, as if a knife had been shoved in his stomach.

  'What's it to be?' Denlin said to the fat man.

  His opponent poked one thick finger at a card in the middle. Denlin flipped it over to a gasp from the crowd. An image of a dragon on the upturned card meant Denlin was the victor.

  The fat man simply gazed at the card for some time as those watching gave an almost embarrassed laugh that suggested they'd seen this guy lose a lot of money before, that this might even be his weekly routine before he disappeared penniless into the deep night. He clutched the table, shook his head.

  Denlin held out his hands to collect his coins. 'A pleasure.' He gathered up the cards, left the table.

  'You're late this evening,' Denlin said to Randur, as they walked to the bar.

  'Yes. She fell asleep on me. Twice.'

  'Not during, I hope?'

  'As if.'

  'Well, spare me the tales, lad. Been a long time since I dipped me wick, like. My drought's moved into its second year.' Then, to the landlord, 'Two lagers.'

  Randur glanced around, noticed a stranger standing at one end of the bar, a hood pulled over his face.

  'So,' Denlin said between sips, 'what you got this time?'

  Randur handed over two gold rings, each set with a precious stone. 'Either of these any good?'

  Denlin put the items under the light, tilted them this way and that. His face screwed up into wrinkles, highlighting his ag
e. 'Not bad at all, lad. Who's this lot from?'

  'A Lady Iora,' Randur replied. 'Recently widowed, and damn wealthy as a result.'

  The hooded stranger gasped, then looked down at a tankard.

  Denlin glanced quickly over to the figure, then at Randur. 'You gonna tell me who your mate is?'

  'I'm sorry?' Randur said.

  'Your pal who came in here with you.' Denlin indicated the hooded newcomer.

  'I came alone,' Randur said. Then, to the stranger, 'Mate, does our business interest you?'

  The figure made to leave, then Denlin grabbed one arm. The stranger gave a high-pitched squeal.

  'Den, stop that.' With a shocked realization, Randur walked over, pulled aside the hood. 'Lady Eir, for fuck's sake, what are you doing here? How the hell did you get out of Bal-macara?'

  Her eyes widened with uncertainty, then all she could do was stare at the floor. Her hair was dishevelled. No make-up, no jewellery, nothing that might indicate her position, but down here they only knew her as a title, not a face.

  Randur drew her hood back up, then took her outside, Denlin following.

  'Eir,' he hissed, 'what're you doing here?'

  She spun around in the dark street, and suddenly she was as passive-aggressive as usual.

  'Actually, Randur Estevu, I think it's you who should be answering that question. I've just witnessed you admit to stealing, and from a lady of the court, what's more. You've stolen within Balmacara, so I should have you executed. You're nothing but a common thief. I should've known better.'

  'She's got a point there, lad,' Denlin concurred from the doorway of the tavern.

  Randur looked back at the old man. Fortunately there was no one else within earshot in the dirty backstreet. 'Thank you for that, Denlin.'