After a moment, Randur opened one bag, pulled out a purse of money, the same purse that Eir had given him as payment for Dartun Sur, and clutched it on his lap, frowning in contemplation of some distant fury. 'I need you to gather together some of the toughest men you know. And to get hold of some swords.'
Randur explained the dramatic events at the Snow Ball, explained what his plans were.
Denlin observed, 'A right bollocksed-up situation.'
'You could say that. But can you help? Look, Den, I need your help now in a big way. It's more than likely I'll need you to leave the city with me, and I've no idea when we'll ever get back. If, that is, we survive. We'd be going up against the city guard, and up against the Council. It won't be pretty, however . . .' Randur opened up the bag of money, then began to count it all out, all in Jamuns. Every next one that he placed on the table, Denlin whistled softly, his eyes growing wide.
Randur said, 'I realize that it seems a lot, but this is for you if you help me out. It might go some way to providing a decent life for your nieces during the Freeze. It'll buy them a nice education, decent food. Because you yourself might not have much use for it if you're on the run. As for the rest of this money, well, we're going to need the best weapons, the best fighters - a private army, if you like. Possibly the roughest bunch - ones most likely to have grudges against the Council and their kind.'
'Shouldn't be too hard, that,' Denlin muttered. Then, 'How many men do you need, like?'
'However many it buys. It's real danger money, but I need enough men to overwhelm the city guard.'
Denlin said, 'And you want me to go with you, after it's all done?'
'Yeah, we'll need some extra protection. You used to be a demon archer in your younger days.'
'Aye, I was, lad.' Denlin wore that distant look of a man remembering his youth, of those bittersweet regions that only he could explore. 'This lot could keep the girls living well for years. A rare chance, given all the misery around. So to rescue this girl of yours, you'd give up any hope of helping your mother?'
There was no way Randur could rationalize his answer. It wasn't simply a question of which one he loved more - there were different kinds of love involved. All he knew was that he must follow his current instincts. Maybe he'd regret it in the future, but he was someone who made this sort of decision on impulse. 'It was her money to start with,' he mumbled.
Randur held eye contact with the old man, and something passed between their glances. 'I really need your help, Den.'
'Aye, count me in. I never got to be a proper hero in the damn army, but maybe I can be to my girls instead. So, when d'you need these fellows by?'
'Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. The Council plan to execute Eir and Rika at sunset.'
*
They began to gather inside the Garuda's Head, fifty-six of the roughest types money could buy. The landlord reckoned he had never seen such a profitable evening. Randur had paid for only one round, though. Clear heads would be needed. Denlin mingled with the throng, a socialite amongst these down-and-outs. There were about twenty rumel, brown-skinned or grey-skinned, and thirty-four humans, their faces mostly concealed beneath their hoods. Some of these thugs were even meant to be from the underground anarchist group. There were weapons in abundance. Denlin had even managed to get hold of two garudas who had been sacked from Imperial duty. Fortunately, Denlin knew the hand-language they responded to.
As he murmured instructions to several of the gathering, every now and then the old man would gesture towards Randur. Scarred heads would turn in his direction, and Randur would shuffle nervously under their gaze. He had made a point of not carrying the rest of the cash on him. One payment up front, the rest securely hidden till later. Denlin himself had thought it best this way.
Denlin struggled to climb onto a table, clasping a spoon and a metal tankard. He rapped the one on the other to get everyone's attention. A reluctant silence fell. 'Right, you lot, I've gone through the details with all of you individually. Now, Randur here is going to say a few words.'
Randur leaped onto the table with his dancer's agility, conscious of how fifty-six people looked four times as many when you were stood up in front of them.
He cleared his throat. 'You know the arrangement. I'm betting most of you don't care about that. But there's something else I need to say. We have to save two innocent women from this bastard Council, the same one that uses its powers to keep you lot trapped down in the caves year after year. Here's your chance to put one over on the fuckers, and to make some cash in the process.'
A cheer went up around the tavern. They liked that. Randur glanced across at Denlin, gave him a relieved grin.
Randur detailed what was essentially Denlin's strategy. The old man had the better knowledge of the city, of how things worked, of how public executions were conducted. It wasn't a wonderful plan. It wasn't even a particularly well-thought-out plan. But Randur hoped it would suffice. The councillors themselves wouldn't provide much opposition, being politicians, not fighters.
It was street thug against soldier, the rough stuff.
Randur himself would at least offer some fine sword skill, a little flair maybe where it was needed.
In response the hired men thrust their fists in the air, an eerie unison to the gesture.
One by one, the participants slipped out of the tavern till Denlin and Randur stood staring at each other in sudden emptiness, and the evening seemed to take on a new quality entirely.
'Your weapons,' Denlin said finally, heading behind the bar and returning with a small bundle of blankets.
'I'm not fighting with cloth,' Randur quipped.
Denlin heaved it onto the bar counter with a clunk, peeled back the material to reveal a couple of swords, newly crafted, simple and slender, without much ornamentation.
Randur lifted one to test its weight. 'Shit, you've excelled yourself, Den. Where did you get these?'
'Finest backstreet smith in the city. They breed 'em tough, down Caveside. Tough metal. Tough men.'
Randur lifted the sword this way and that, then strode through a few moves, fetching glances from the landlord. 'That's a better weapon than any in Balmacara.'
'Of course,' Denlin said with a genuine satisfaction.
Randur returned to check the other sword was identical.
'Who's the other sword for?' Denlin enquired.
'It's for Eir,' Randur explained. 'And now we'd better get going. We've got garudas to catch.'
*
It was difficult to judge when the sun was setting, since too many clouds obscured it. There was no snow, at least, which would make things easier for the garudas.
All available spaces between the two encircling walls were people-thick. Against normal practice the guards had let them in to watch this historic event. Much of the city had gathered, citizens leaning from every convenient window or balcony. Randur himself was standing with Denlin and the two garudas on a rooftop, though the wind was so vicious it was likely to transform their bones to ice. In this light the garudas looked more decrepit than previously. One of them was missing feathers in places, and its beak was heavily scarred as if it had been tortured long ago.
The house belonged to a woman of the court he had spent a couple of evenings romancing, and she still succumbed to his charms. It gave the four onlookers a view of everything they needed. They could see all the three walls surrounding the city. On the outermost one, the two young women would be executed, and that was the one Randur had to get to. That wall was fairly narrow, which would work in their favour since only a couple of soldiers could come against him at a time.
'Den, why're there so few guards?'
Denlin sniffed, scrutinized the scene. 'You're right, lad. Haven't a clue. Perhaps there's something going on somewhere else. Something not that good, I'd wager.'
'You reckon that explosion we heard earlier was anything to do with it?' Randur suggested.
'Who knows, lad. Rumour is that a house collapse
d, so I doubt it.'
Randur explored his paranoia. 'Another thing, have you heard a banshee scream recently? I haven't heard anything for a day at least.'
'Perhaps no one's died,' Denlin said. 'Though I doubt that.'
A soldier garuda circled the city, seeming to cast a lingering glance their way, but with this many people about, they probably would not be the only suspicious ones to watch. Not in Villjamur.
Drums from somewhere, a slow beat, deep and low.
This was it then. Randur and Denlin braced themselves, and Denlin signed to the two garudas. He reached into his pocket to pluck out his horn.
They waited anxiously.
Eir and Rika were escorted forward from a doorway, guards in front, guards behind, ten in all. Two at the front held bows ready-drawn. The two women were bound by rope at the wrists, and were clothed in the same brown garments that all prisoners were forced to wear. As they commenced the long slow walk to their fate, people cheered or booed from below. Randur had heard about the poor excuse for a trial, the rushed legal procedures and could only speculate about what had gone on behind the scenes. Randur phased the distractions out of his consciousness, tried to concentrate on Vitassi, taking his mind somewhere where his emotions wouldn't get in the way.
Deep breaths.
Denlin suddenly blew the horn.
Down between the walls, a fight started, people pushing and shoving towards a troop of soldiers stationed near the gates. Randur thought he saw one of them get his head sliced off. More cheers followed. A soldier on the top of the wall halted the grim progress of Eir and Rika. The crowds below seemed to drift in liquid form, pushing back and forth. One of the inner gates began to close, then for no clear reason, stopped halfway. The guards on the wall looked to each other for some kind of direction. The two archers were now pointing their bows down at the surging tide of people, waiting instructions.
Denlin produced a bow of his own from under his cloak, flipped the garment aside to reveal a quiver full of arrows. He took aim and fired. By the time the first archer was struck, Denlin had reloaded. He missed the other archer by a hand-span, took aim, fired, narrowly missed again.
'Damn wind,' Denlin grumbled. Then he made a sign to the garudas.
As the birds seized hold of the ropes already fixed to the belts of their two passengers, Randur gripped his swords in readiness.
The crowd underneath began to riot while Denlin and Randur were pulled skywards, sailing above the scene below of thousands of citizens crammed between the walls.
A soldier-garuda shot towards them from one side.
Denlin looked up in time and aimed and fired. The arrow struck the bird-man's face full on. The creature spiralled into the crowds below, which parted with a liquid elegance suggesting they now moved as a single entity.
Across the first and second walls, dodging arrows from the archer still standing. More arrows whipping from all sides now, but the garudas flew on regardless, hauling Randur this way and that, and it took determination not to be sick from the erratic flight.
The garudas landed simultaneously on the outer wall, with a skidding clamour of boots on stone. Then they released the men onto a surface that could only be four paces across, with nothing either side to keep them from falling to their deaths. More arrows sang past as the garudas took off and faded into the great cityscape above the rioting crowds.
Now for the hard part, Randur thought, as he turned to face the remaining soldiers.
He noticed how the guards had left Eir and Rika standing alone. Denlin kept taking aim from behind him, but his arrows weren't much use against the men's armour. As arrows pinged off the metal, Randur drew his sword, and stepped forward to meet the first of them.
Their heavy broadswords suggested they would be slow in such a narrow arena, which brought a confident smile to his lips.
The first made a lunge at him, bringing his sword down to clang against empty stone, but Randur had skipped back and now flicked his blade up through the soldier's hand, and as the soldier gaped at his wound in disbelief, Randur kicked behind his knee, then pushed him over the rim of the wall. Randur drew his other sword and, one in each hand, stared warily at the two men directly in front of him.
Denlin shot an arrow into one's face and with a gurgle he toppled to his death.
'Cheers, Den!' Randur cried out, and began carving into his opponents' frenzied strokes with ease, one sword quickly across a face then, whilst the man instinctively pressed his palms to the bleeding wound, Randur kicked him off the side harbouring the refugees.
A noticeable cheer of triumph from below.
Denlin shot yet another soldier directly in the face, his helmet snapping back into the face of another. Randur continued to ram his blade into any exposed segments of flesh.
Guards continued freefalling to their death.
Down below, soldiers were massing to try to subdue the rioting, not helped by the fact that certain hired thugs kept hauling them to the ground and dispatching them. Then people emerged from the crowds to kick and pummel their victims, venting long-suppressed anger on the symbols of power in the city.
At the far end, further troops were gathering at the door giving access to the top of the wall. The few remaining guards approached him cautiously, thrusting their swords towards him reluctantly. Randur took them two at a time, tuning into his peripheral vision for guidance. Quick, subtle strokes. Deft footwork. An arrow from Denlin. It was soon over.
Randur glanced across the wall. Nothing between them and the women except perhaps fifty paces.
They ran.
'Rand!' Eir cried in relief, her brown robe flapping like a flag in the wind.
Randur arrived first and sliced through the rope securing her wrists while Denlin freed her sister. Randur handed a sword to Eir, who regarded it as if she couldn't recognize its function.
'I taught you how to fight, but not to kill,' Randur panted. 'I promise you it's not much harder. You up for it?'
'Yes, I am,' Eir replied without hesitation, but with a look of terror on her face.
Randur indicated the soldiers now approaching, some way further along the long wall. 'Those heavy swords impede their movements, to our advantage.'
'Did you organize all this?' Rika gestured to the commotion down below. The crowds had overpowered the military and violence had spread out to the neighbouring streets. The whole chaotic scene possessed a surreal texture, spoke of the power of the people, the power of long-term resentment. What had begun with just a few dozen brawlers now absorbed hundreds, the spirit of the city changing before their eyes, generating a confidence that came from citizens rather than their rulers - a true democracy. You would soon hear these screams and shouts on the far side of the Empire.
'Den, mainly them,' Randur said, pointing to the soldiers behind. 'Not quite the time for a debate though.'
Randur then gestured for them to hurry. 'There's a boat waiting for us right now in the underground docks. We need to fight our way down to the tunnels running under the city.' He reached into his boot for a knife, which he handed to Rika. 'You may need this.'
'I am not really the kind of woman to consider violence as a solution.' Rika handed the knife back.
Be awkward, why don't you. Randur frowned, sliding the blade back in his boot. 'Righto, my lady, but you don't mind if we kick a few arses to save your own?'
Denlin interrupted, 'City soldiers are nearly here and I'm almost out of arrows.'
Randur said, 'Rika, you stay behind us. Right, Eir, let's show this lot a little Vitassi.'
The pair stepped forward with their swords up at the ready. The soldiers stared at Eir with confusion, a young woman of her pampered lineage preparing to meet them in conflict. Randur utilized their momentary hesitation to lunge out and rake his blade across one face. Before retreating, Eir swiftly repeated his gesture, and Randur noted her remoteness with approval. It was never a simple thing, to wound for the first time.
Two men crumpled to the fl
oor, another came in place. Randur slipped on the wet stone, tumbling into the other man. They rolled awkwardly, pushing each other away from their own weapons. Randur reached for the man's head, smashed his skull and kicked his body sideways off the wall.
He pushed himself up as another two soldiers shuffled forward. Eir faltered and Randur shouted for her to continue, to concentrate.
Side-by-side they were blocking blows, stepping gracefully out of the direction of strikes, and Eir learned from their opponents' mistakes, waited for them, then wiped the razor-edge of her short sword across their necks or hands, never enough for a direct kill, but they collapsed off the wall to their deaths. Every time they did Randur could see something fade within her.
Denlin warned, 'Last arrows,' and killed two more.
'Keep an eye out behind us for now, Den. Me and Eir will get rid of this lot easily.' Randur noticed how Eir seemed enhanced by his boast of how effectively they worked together, regained her composure and put her mind into a protected place. She began a series of new moves that were far too complex for the guard she now parried with, overwhelming him with pace if not strength, till a swift diagonal stroke saw him paw his throat in panic. Then she kicked his weakened legs from under him and he buckled forwards.
One by one, the opposition was decimated.
The four of them finally had a clear path to the doorway. The riot below had moved away from the gates entirely, absorbing new energy in the ancient streets nearby, and already two trails of smoke rose from the lower level of the city.
They moved to the narrow stairs, which spiralled down.
'How come there're no more guards?' Eir panted.
Breathless, Randur replied, 'Rioting . . . All the trouble on the streets . . . Weren't prepared for it to get out of hand.'
'Smart,' she gasped. 'And all Denlin's idea?'
'A master plan,' Denlin wheezed, and nearly tripped over the bow strapped across his chest.
*
The two guards standing sentry at the bottom of the stairs were dead before they even realized what was happening, and their departure was marked by a web-trail of blood against the whitewashed stone.
Nights of Villjamur Page 44