Nights of Villjamur

by Mark Charan Newton

  From then on, Denlin directed the small group along a complex of side-alleys, then down into a passage leading under the city towards Caveside, and all the time they could hear the crowds shouting in anger above them, a thousand feet thundering on a trail of devastation.

  At one point Eir dropped her sword and staggered against the wall and began to cry. Randur held her in the darkness. 'What's wrong?' he asked soothingly.

  'I helped kill . . . I've never done anything like that.'

  'It's all right.' He'd been stupid to expect she could just take someone's life like that, without feeling anything. Denlin was just about apparent in this darkness, but the old man seemed patient and understanding. Rika was close but silent.

  'You were saving your own life,' Randur whispered to her, pulling her closer to him, then helping her to her feet. 'You had no choice. I promise you that when we're out of here, you'll be fine. You'll be fine.' It wasn't a good time to tell her that she might never get over it, but she would have to block it out or they would be hunted down and slaughtered. She cried into his shoulder for several minutes whilst Denlin marched back along their route to check if they were being pursued. When Eir had calmed herself and he could feel the tension released from her body, she apologized. 'I'm being so ridiculous. Now isn't the time.'

  'You're just being human.' Randur repeated over and over that she would be back to normal as soon as she was out of the city, and that she had to put it out of her mind. All the time praying that sometime soon she might begin to believe the lie herself.

  *

  On and on, through passageways and down steps that had become so worn they were rounded treacherously at the edges. Ancient, ancient corridors.

  Denlin was relying on memory to guide them. Randur wasn't so sure of the reliability of that, but the old man had surprised him more than once. They trudged for the best part of an hour in near-darkness - and in silence, so they could hear if anyone was approaching.

  Eventually: the sound of water.

  'Are we close now?' Randur enquired.

  Denlin said 'Yep' with satisfaction.

  Eventually, bits of daylight pooled in patches, as the rock around them changed texture, and the familiar smells of Caveside became intense.

  'This is it,' Denlin announced in triumph.

  Eir said, 'Won't they be out looking for us?'

  'Probably,' Randur replied, 'but down here is unlikely. Anyway, with all those opportunities for looting above, I think we'll find Caveside is almost empty.'

  Rika interrupted, 'So we've come so far - how do we proceed?'

  Denlin beckoned, 'Follow me.'

  Down further hidden alleyways and along backstreets which few knew of, even in Caveside. In his heightened paranoia, the shadows moved like live things. Cats craned their heads in curiosity, leaping from wall to wall in the darkness. Randur noticed how Denlin constantly looked this way and that, and he wondered if the old man was thinking how he might never see these familiar streets again.

  The Garuda's Head was unusually closed, a man slumped in front of it, either asleep or unconscious.

  'Wait here,' Randur instructed the women. Eir drew her sword just in case.

  The two men walked around the back of the bar, then returned with Randur's bags, and a replacement quiver of arrows.

  From one bag, Randur dug out some female garments. 'Bit more stylish and probably warmer than what you've got on.'

  'Thank you,' Rika said graciously, as she and her sister began pulling on layers of clothing. Randur and Denlin kept a look-out. It was strange to see Caveside so empty.

  'Ready,' Rika decided at last. 'I want to tell you how truly grateful we are.'

  'Sure,' Randur said, thinking that it was only for Eir he was doing this.

  'Pleasure,' Denlin said. 'But not over yet. We need to sail through the caves first, and past more military stationed outside. They should be stretched, what with the riots, like, but there's bound to be a few on watch.'

  'Sail?' Eir asked.

  'Yep,' Randur said, 'the last of our money bought us some kind of boat. It's no longship like you're used to, but it'll get us the hell out of here.'

  'Let's go then,' Denlin declared.

  Randur hauled the other bag over his shoulder.

  'What else have you got in there?' Eir said.

  'Just my clothes. Why?'

  Eir sighed.

  *

  The city docks at the far end of Caveside were crammed with fishing vessels, of every kind, a line of them packed in tight along the harbourside, the only safe getaway route left open for them. Randur had slipped out first in stealth and cut down two of the soldiers on patrol, dragging their bodies into the water. One fisherman turned from fixing his net, saw the incident, then waved casually before ignoring them again.

  The small group climbed aboard the small boat that was waiting for them - a fishing boat offering little shelter - then pushed off. Soon the wind blustered through the caves, bringing fresher air with it.

  Denlin explained, 'We'll all need to row until we can get the sails up.'

  It took an immense effort to push their craft through the water.

  'Bit of a step down for an Empress, this,' Denlin joked.

  'I will do my bit,' Rika said. 'I am quite capable of being treated as an equal.'

  An arrow pierced the water right beside them. A soldier was firing from a vantage point just ahead and to the left.

  'Get down,' Randur urged the two women, and ducked down himself.

  The old man brought an arrow to docking point and let fly.

  It connected with stone. He repeated the action whilst the boat edged forwards. The soldier didn't dare to return fire whilst Denlin was aiming at him. 'Good thing I brought so many arrows, but I don't want to waste them on this bugger.'

  Oars split the water, and helped by the current they made progress. Now they were out of view, Denlin picked up his oar to quicken their pace.

  No conversation passed between them; they were all preoccupied with a determination to escape.

  Ten minutes later and one of the moons became visible, the sounds of rioting became sharper, despite the greater distance. They were outside. Randur opened his bag and pulled out a couple of blankets and offered them to the women. He took time to wrap Eir up snugly, enjoying the moment of intimacy.

  'You not going to wrap me up too, eh?' Denlin said. 'I'm old. I feel the cold.'

  'Can we relax yet?' Randur said.

  'Once the sail's up.' Denlin fiddled with ropes and set up a small mast. He unfurled a sail that snagged tight as the wind caught it, and the boat lurched. The oars were pulled in.

  Randur sighed physically, and feeling mentally drained he turned to Eir, who nestled into him, her head resting under his chin. He didn't feel the need to talk right now. All he wanted to do was fall asleep beside her. All that mattered to him now was Eir. And here she was, in his arms, so things were fine.

  'Where to now, then?' Denlin said, pulling him back to reality.

  Randur glanced across at Rika, whose arm rested on the side of the boat as she sat gazing out to sea. She nodded vigorously, then spoke, almost to herself. 'Villiren. That's where Commander Lathraea has gone.'

  'Brynd?' Eir asked, shuffling upright.

  'Yes. My name needs clearing. In fact, both our names do. Chancellor Urtica has corrupted the whole city hierarchy, and now only the commander will believe me - even though the military will serve whoever's at the top. I just know he'll believe me, and do what's right. The last I heard, he was heading for Villiren. We shall find him there, and then he can advise. Ask yourself the question: can we allow Urtica to steal from us the Empire that generations of our family have ruled over? No, I'm still Empress, so it's my duty to resist him, and this is only the start of things. We can't do that from here, as we are clearly going to be outnumbered. So we need to go to Villiren.'

  Randur didn't think it mattered much who led the Jamur Empire - nothing seemed to change anyway, and t
he Council made all the decisions. Didn't fancy explaining that to her just yet, though. Instead he muttered, 'There was me thinking I'd got the girl and that was it.'

  Denlin said, 'And I can kiss goodbye to putting my feet up and growing old disgracefully.'

  'Denlin, Randur - I owe you great rewards. Please, will you stay with me?'

  'I'm going where the lad goes,' Denlin replied.

  Randur turned to Eir. 'I go where this one goes.'

  Eir shrugged. 'Well, I don't fancy being constantly hunted down and then slaughtered. So I guess we're all in this.'

  Her sister leaned back with a sigh.

  Doesn't anyone just want a quiet life? Randur thought.

  'Thank you,' Eir whispered, words meant for his ears only. Her glistening eyes fought back tears of exhaustion.

  Given all the problems of this world, Eir offered him so much comfort, and that was maybe enough, wasn't it, just to find someone to love, and to get through life with that person alongside you, because there were no certainties in this world except maybe uncertainty itself.

  As the boat was dragged by the breeze, he could see the orange glow of light in the windows of a handful of houses along the shore, warm and inviting but distant and untouchable, and it was as if they weren't just sailing away from Villjamur, but from all the comforts and luxuries they had been used to, from their own lives as they had been lived.

  From the world as they knew it.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My sincere love and gratitude to my parents, Kamal and Mick, for their continuing support.

  Immense thanks to my agent, John Jarrold, who has been both consul and oracle; without his deeply valuable guidance and belief, this book would never have reached publication.

  Peter Lavery, possibly the smartest man alive, and with a pencil in his hand, certainly the most ruthless. My deep gratitude to him, and also to Julie Crisp for helping to shape this book into something better.

  Thanks to: Graeme Harris, for the late-night conversations; Robert Thompson for the crucial advice; James Long for the wide-ranging discussions. And a special thanks to George Mann, good friend and sounding board.

  And many writers continue to inspire and influence me, and I'm doubtlessly in debt to them all; but they are too numerous to mention here.

  PRAISE FOR NIGHTS OF VILLJAMUR

  'Newton treads new ground in his attempt to bring literary concerns to the fantasy genre'

  Guardian

  'This is a grown-up fantasy that touches on real-life concerns, and this is where fantasy is at its most potent and relevant. Newton is certainly a new talent to watch, and I look forward to the next in the Legends of the Red Sun series'

  Speculative Horizons

  'Scorning the fantasy cliches of inescapable battles and all-conquering heroes, Mark Newton has created a unique world threatened by uncaring calamity. Convincingly drawn across the moral spectrum, men, women and other sentient races pursue their own interests, their paths crossing and conflicting. In an atmospheric tale of different strands woven into a compelling tapestry, successive surprises prompt shocks of understanding and fresh apprehension to send shivers down the spine and keep those pages turning'

  Juliet E McKenna, author of the Aldabreshin Compass series

  'The author's style pushes this tale closer to literary work than most fantasy fare and in particular there's a pleasing depth to the characters . . . there's not a cliche among them; he paints his cast to harbour some wonderful contradictions hidden beneath their official faces . . . Overall, this is an impressive novel from a new fantasy author'

  DeathRay

  'Nights of Villjamur is a terrific debut, it starts with a bang and keeps on going, building action upon action with terrific pace and plenty surprises before relenting and letting you catch your breath before it starts up again . . . refreshingly deft storytelling from an author who clearly knows how to write and I look forward to the next in the series'

  Sci Fi London

  'Nights of Villjamur has something for everyone and it's all good'

  'Graeme's Fantasy Book Review' blog

  'Mark Charan Newton's Nights of Villjamur has established itself in my mind as a contender for Best Fantasy Novel of 2009. Highly, highly recommended'

  Fantasy Book Critic

  'A great book, which takes old tropes and re-imagines them into something new and memorable . . . Definitely my favourite fantasy of the year so far, in what is a very good year for the genre. This will be a "best of the year" novel, unless I'm much mistaken'

  Sffworld.com

  NIGHTS OF VILLJAMUR

  Mark Charan Newton was born in 1981 and lives in Nottingham. Nights of Villjamur is the first book in the Legends of the Red Sun series.

  You can find out more about the author at his website

  www.markcnewton.com

  BY MARK CHARAN NEWTON

  Nights of Villjamur

  City of Ruin

  For Mick,

  a father when you never had to be

  'The power of the dead is that we think they see us all the time. The dead have a presence. Is there a level of energy composed solely of the dead? They are also in the ground, of course, asleep and crumbling. Perhaps we are what they dream.'

  - Don DeLillo, White Noise

  First published 2009 by Tor

  This edition published 2010 by Tor

  This electronic edition published 2010 by Tor

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

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  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-0-330-53292-1 PDF

  ISBN 978-0-330-53291-4 EPUB

  Copyright (c) Mark Charan Newton

  Map Artwork by Hemesh Alles

  The right of Mark Charan Newton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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