Fulcrom nodded.
‘Walk with me,’ the commander requested. They turned and began trudging back up the slope, military personnel surrounding them. There were quite a few stretchers being carried to the hastily set-up medical tents with several dozen injured soldiers, some of them clearly not human.
‘Now tell me, Investigator Fulcrom – what the hell happened to Villjamur?’
‘When were you last there?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘A lot changed, even before we were forced to flee.’
‘I left before the Empress and her sister were set up for a crime they did not commit and were due to be executed on the city wall. They escaped. Urtica became Emperor.’
‘Is that the official story now?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘That they were in the clear?’
Brynd nodded. ‘As much as these things still matter, yes. We’re annexed from the Empire now,’ he continued, looking around, ‘but that is a situation which seems out of date considering there seems little from which to be annexed.’
‘That’s putting in mildly.’
Fulcrom gave as accurate an account as possible, starting with Urtica’s crackdown on law and order. ‘In the Inquisition, we thought it would be good – that we’d have powers to do our job thoroughly. The crackdown went rather far, though. The military upped their patrols on the streets and started harassing those from Caveside. Crime, ironically, started to rise.’
‘Soldiers shouldn’t be on the streets like that,’ the commander observed. ‘They’re not trained to deal with civilians in that way.’
‘I agree with you on that. Well, given the tensions in the city, things were bound to escalate. A woman called Shalev arrived in the city and organized the Cavesiders. She came from the cultist isle and she was remarkably efficient in targeting structures of power. The rebels became so efficient, in fact, that the Emperor panicked. He was beginning his programme of repairing the city and didn’t want a revolution on his streets – and so he created the Villjamur Knights.’
‘And they would be . . . ?’
‘Cultist-designed heroes. I was in charge of them, as it happens. There were only three of them and they were each given special powers to help fight crime. A little like the Night Guard but more specialized. Only one survives now, and her name is Lan. At the same time the underground movement had swelled to a point where tensions were simply too much. I’ve heard talk that there was an attempt on the Emperor’s life and that he was assassinated, but that all became overshadowed by the presence of the sky-city.’
‘Indeed . . .’ the commander said. ‘Do you know where it came from?’
‘I don’t know,’ Fulcrom continued. ‘One moment there was nothing but the usual grey skies, the next it was just there – dropping creatures into the city and massacring people.’
‘You seem to have handled it well,’ the commander observed. ‘Getting everyone out here like this, getting them all moving – that kind of thing isn’t simple.’
Fulcrom grimaced. ‘It just . . . happened, really. No one knew what to do. I’ve not even mentioned Frater Mercury yet.’
‘Frater who?’
*
The man who invented the rules – you’ll see.
That’s what the rumel investigator had said – the man who invented the rules, and the man who could probably save them – if he chose to do so. This, then, would be the person Artemisia mentioned back at the Citadel, the one so important to their world.
Brynd walked with the affable investigator up the slope, a little exhausted now despite the fact that the battle had been relatively simple compared with Villiren. His mind was thoroughly engaged in processing the mess that the Jamur Empire had become. Although a staggering number of people had died, more deaths had been avoided, and he couldn’t help but feel satisfied that the battle had proven successful. The Okun had been comprehensively defeated, thanks to combining forces with Artemisia’s people – an important gesture. Also, his new armour was everything he had hoped for.
When they crested the hill, Brynd stared in awe at the scene below. Enormous, strange vessels were drifting out to sea, the crude, flat outlines more akin to floating islands than ships, and how they were moving without sails was anyone’s guess.
‘That is what Frater Mercury does,’ Fulcrom said enthusiastically next to him. The relief was clear on the rumel’s face. ‘He changes all the rules.’
‘What are they?’ Brynd asked.
‘They were land-vehicles,’ Fulcrom said.
‘We had reports of such things, but what are they?’
‘So far as I can tell, exactly that – they’re moving vehicles crafted from the fabric of the earth itself – quite literally. Frater Mercury – the man, being, thing I mentioned – possesses some qualities that we can’t fathom.’
Fulcrom then explained the emergence of this being as the result of a priest coming to Villjamur, brought through worlds by means of some arcane ritual.
‘What happened to the priest?’
Fulcrom shrugged. ‘Gone. Presumably killed during the events in Villjamur.’ Fulcrom hesitated before continuing. ‘The priest said some strange things, about our history not being as we believe it to be.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Brynd replied, looking around cautiously. ‘We have figures from the other realm who can confirm this was the case.’
‘These figures,’ Fulcrom said, ‘will they be looking for Frater Mercury?’
‘Yes, I’d say that’s very likely. That will need to happen before the next phase.’
‘What’s that going to be?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘The next phase.’
Brynd turned back to face the sky-city, which was defined only by the absence of starlight. ‘We’ll need to take that thing down and wipe out anything it’s brought to ground and that does not wish to exist peacefully. There are no gentle solutions, and very little room for negotiations. At the same time, we have to accept that we are going to have to share our world with other species. There is plenty of land, many islands that are sparsely populated, but I can’t imagine it’s going to be a smooth journey.’
‘How do you plan to take down the sky-city?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘It’s already obliterated Villjamur.’
‘First, we’re going to complete the evacuation, get ourselves to safety and, once we have time to build up enough of an opposition, then we can begin to consider our real options.’
‘In the meantime,’ Fulcrom said, ‘we lose the island of Jokull?’
‘The Empire may have collapsed, but we still have the people,’ Brynd said diplomatically. As he looked to the future, he had already lost his emotional attachments to the concept of the old Empire. ‘Life as we know it has changed and a new world will form – for better or worse. We need people to shape these events, however – people like you.’
Fulcrom turned to watch the ships again. ‘I’ve never really contemplated what I’d do next. Getting off the island was all I could think about for every waking hour. How could I help?’
‘There will need to be a force similar to the Inquisition – even for a transitional period. Not just in Villiren, where we’re currently based, but the new plans would need defining for further afield. And I tend not to trust many people from Villiren.’
‘I’ve heard it’s a pretty fast and loose city.’
Brynd laughed. ‘Yes, you could say that. And that was before the war, so imagine how problematic things are now. No, now I’ll need good investigators, and a different form of street policing. We’re carving our own future at the moment – but you should be a part of that, given your achievements and leadership skills.’
A figure bounded towards them, descending from above; Brynd tensed and moved for his sabre.
‘It’s all right,’ Fulcrom said. ‘It’s Lan, one of the Villjamur Knights – the group I told you about. She’s the last remaining one.’
Brynd examined the newcomer: she was lithe and athletic, with a strong, overgrown dark fringe and an outfit as black as night. There was a strange symbol on the front, now
muddied: a white cross set within a circle. ‘A Villjamur Knight,’ Brynd muttered, and nodded. ‘Fulcrom here has been telling me about what happened in Villjamur. So you fought crime on behalf of Urtica?’
‘Something like that,’ she said with a half smile, and he knew by her sarcasm that she wasn’t some pre-programmed Urtican puppet. Lan gave them a report on what was happening with the civilian movements. ‘There are now twenty craft transporting roughly two or three thousand people.’
‘How are they travelling?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘What’s taken the place of the horses?’
‘Nothing,’ Lan said and then laughed gently. ‘The horses are walking on the surface of the sea – it was incredible to witness. They seemed tentative at first but whatever Frater Mercury did to them – or the sea, or both – they’re now happily treading on the surface as if it was sand. We’ve had to space the vehicles wide enough apart so that the waves created don’t soak the people. There’re enough freezing to death already.’
Brynd nodded and gestured to the horizon. ‘I’ve seen to it that every seaworthy vessel is sailing to this island to help with the evacuation,’ he replied. ‘Garudas are helping with their navigation – we didn’t quite know where the exit point would be – but we should have a few thousand fishing boats, longships, trade ships, whatever we can get our hands on, all landing ashore over the next day or two.’
‘Will that be quick enough?’ Fulcrom enquired.
Brynd frowned. ‘I just don’t know. The dragons are transporting another few thousand soldiers so we’ll have more troops ashore before sunrise. We can form several lines of defence, to ensure the safety of the civilian population. We’re doing what we can.’
‘I think the people will be more than grateful,’ Lan said. ‘Now, I should really get back – there were a few fights over who should be evacuated first. You would have thought people could stick together in times like this. Anyway, I have to make sure more conflicts don’t break out.’
‘Excellent suggestion,’ Brynd said.
Lan touched Fulcrom’s arm, and he smiled back at her. She turned and jogged into the distance. Brynd noted those final tender gestures Fulcrom had made towards her, and questioned their status.
‘We are partners,’ Fulcrom confessed, ‘in more than one sense.’
Brynd nodded and thought no more of the comment. He was relieved simply to have met two decent individuals. The future would need people like them.
*
Hours later, sometime between midnight and dawn, the sea-vehicles returned to the shore. Someone clattered a crude copper bell and started shouting in an attempt to rouse people from their slumber, and for the next wave of evacuees to assemble. There weren’t enough craft for the job – people just had to wait.
Brynd didn’t think it was possible to sleep out here anyway, what with this breeze moaning loudly as it drifted along the coast. A salt tang lingered in the air, and smoke from wood fires was still pungent. He watched in disbelief as the immense horses approached the shore. On the back of one of them stood a much smaller figure, which he assumed was Frater Mercury.
Presently, civilians began surging towards the shore. The tide was out, and many began slipping on the seaweed-caked pebbles. Brynd walked over to a unit of senior soldiers nearby, where he gave orders for a few hundred of the Dragoons to try to organize the most vulnerable – the elderly, the very young, mothers – to evacuate first. Anyone who could last another night was ordered to stay.
There were impromptu farewells between families, and Brynd found the sudden, touching scenes actually moved him – which was surprising, given his recent lack of emotional engagement. Perhaps it was because he was back on Jokull, or perhaps because he had seen just how vulnerable a population could be.
Fulcrom joined him to confirm that all was going well with the next phase of the evacuation, and that any signs of trouble were beginning to fade.
‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’ Brynd asked.
‘Yeah, it’s certainly something,’ Fulcrom said with a wry grin. ‘Especially now it’s less of a burden and the responsibility’s yours I can finally enjoy the sight.’
‘The burden becomes less of an issue after a few years of doing it. You learn to filter out those kinds of thoughts, for better or worse. Besides, whatever we do someone will end up being hurt or angry with us.’
‘How do you know what the beneficial choices really are? Will there be democratic choices in this new society? We all know the Council elections were a joke.’
‘What would you have in its place? Tell me – you’re someone who has worked with the law for all your life. Where does it fail people?’ Brynd gestured with an outstretched arm towards the evacuees.
‘It’s not really my place to say, commander.’
‘I’ve spent a lot of my years listening to people who have no idea about how things work on the ground. You’ve been there, and seen a great deal of turmoil. You saw what happened in the last days of Villjamur. I’m only interested in an opinion, man – you won’t hang for it.’
‘This is a new regime then,’ Fulcrom replied. The rumel appeared to think about the question for a moment, but Brynd didn’t hurry him. Eventually, he said, ‘Ideally you’d have representatives for the people. I would say that, without a shadow of a doubt, the serious events in Villjamur would not have happened if people had had some say in the matters that affected them. You could have neighbourhood representatives, perhaps, especially if there are going to be communities of different species. All the law books in Villjamur were geared up around protecting land or property in one form or another; presumably when you’re drawing new lines on a map that won’t be so easy. They’ll need someone to champion their concerns. They’ll want land of their own, too, to make a living from.’
Brynd absorbed the sage words of the rumel investigator. Brynd’s time had been spent enforcing a type of law on people in far-off cities, and he had seen the difficulties and scepticism and failures first-hand; the investigator had experience of what happened when a society looked inward, which was the direction Brynd was now having to contemplate.
‘Forgive me for bringing this up, commander – our discussions are rather high level. I hadn’t expected to be discussing the future of the Empire – or whatever’s left of it. I always assumed the Night Guard’s concerns were military strategy. I think what I’m asking is, who’s leading us and who gets to decide how to run a new regime?’
‘Empress Rika,’ Brynd replied curtly.
Fulcrom nodded and appeared to contemplate her reclamation of the throne of the Empire. ‘You don’t seem too impressed with that.’
‘Your powers of observation are acute, investigator,’ Brynd said.
‘It always seems odd that our history is populated with kings or emperors – or in this case, Empress.’
‘She’s not strictly an empress any more,’ Brynd said, ‘for as you can see, there’s very little left of the Empire’s main structures.’
Dawn broke, shadows flittered away as the first light of day rose up from behind, lighting the remarkable view before them.
TWELVE
Eir, former Stewardess of the Jamur Empire, sister of Empress Rika, found herself in unusual settings for a lady of her status. The rooms weren’t exactly inviting – the structure had been built using large stones from a collapsed monastery, though apparently the architects had not thought about bringing many of the windows with them. Light came only from cressets, candles and fireplaces. Just a few decorations were littered about the place – a few religious trinkets and some donated rugs that gave off a bad smell, which was only disguised by the worse odours from dried blood or buckets of urine.
Using a cloth soaked in a water and oil mixture, she washed around a man’s wounds; they hadn’t become infected, thanks to the quick work of one of the nurses, so it probably looked far worse than it actually was.
The man smiled through the pain as she dabbed the longest wound that stretched up along his ribs.
Water trickled down his torso and he shivered. One of the other nurses briefed Eir earlier: he had become injured in a fight when he intervened in a quayside skirmish. Two women had been assaulted by a gang of youths, and he had stepped in to scare them off. The youths overwhelmed him: two knife wounds under his ribcage had freed him of a lot of blood, but he had been incredibly fortunate to gain the attention of some people nearby, who knew about the hospital.
‘You have good luck on your side, if you managed to find yourself here,’ Eir said softly.
He looked at her, smiled, and then his gaze drifted to the wall behind her. ‘Well, miss, some might argue that my luck was not so good that I was knifed in the first place.’ He was one of the more polite patients here at the hospital – a pleasant-natured forty-year-old, who seemed honest and decent, and that was the most any nurse could hope for.
‘I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope for a few more logs in the stove?’ he asked.
‘I’ll see if one of the nurses can bring some more in,’ Eir replied.
He glanced up at her again. ‘I’ve not seen you around here much.’
‘No,’ Eir replied. ‘I don’t get the chance to volunteer that much.’
‘It’s nice that anyone can really,’ he said, and laid back on the bed. ‘You don’t look much like a nurse.’
‘And you don’t look much like a hero,’ she replied dryly.
He laughed. ‘No, I guess you never quite know that you’ll be the one to step up when you need to.’
Eir placed the pan of infused water to one side and began to rinse the cloth of blood. This was only her third time spent working here, and already it had not panned out quite as she thought it would. For some reason she had imagined rows and rows of beds, clean sheets, fresh water, and nurses tending thankful patients. The reality was starkly different: makeshift beds; reeking donated blankets; water that had to be boiled from melted snow; rats scurrying along the edges of the room before disappearing into shadows; and patients, when they were not being sick or coughing up blood, were either ungrateful, drunk, or the men leered at the nurses and tried to touch them up when they got a chance. Luckily Eir had not so far been affected; she kept a dagger in her boot and, thanks to Randur’s teachings, knew how to use it.
The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) Page 15