The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4)

by Newton, Mark Charan

  But the Night Guard rode into the older parts of the city as heroes. Their victory had travelled ahead of them, via garudas and outriders, who had done a good job of spreading the news far and wide. Hundreds of citizens turned out to welcome their heroes home, running alongside the obvious routes to the Citadel; then, as they neared their headquarters, people came in their thousands.

  The gathered masses began to cheer and whistle, and trumpets sounded, in a rare display of Imperial pomp. There were dozens of beacons lighting the route, and some of the older army standards had been raised above the Citadel, flapping in the breeze above the crenellations.

  ‘This is like the good old days,’ Brug said. ‘Remember when we’d ride into Villjamur and people actually gave a shit?’

  Brynd returned a knowing smile. ‘People care when they feel threatened; their lack of attention simply meant we were doing our job well enough.’

  ‘You’re more optimistic than me,’ Brug told him.

  Brynd had to admit this felt good: his pulse raced and the air felt suddenly sharper. They hadn’t experienced this sort of appreciation in years – subduing tribal skirmishes was not particularly celebrated in Villjamur, they were merely the expected thing, despite the brutal efficiency of some of the tribes.

  Six mounted Dragoons met them, before guiding the army on the last part of the journey to the Citadel – it was more a formal gesture than a necessity, but Brynd was impressed at how the military was remembering some of the old traditions in his absence. A raised platform had been erected, another unexpected event, but Brynd realized that someone would want him to address the crowds – and that fitted in nicely with his own plans.

  The command to halt rippled back, and gradually the horses came to a standstill. Brynd dismounted, while the others remained in position, tightening into neat lines with military precision. Brynd walked forward and some of the administrative figures greeted him, then guided him towards Eir and Rika.

  He spotted Randur lingering in the background with a strange sense of urgency on his face, desperately trying to get Brynd’s attention. And amidst the cheering he just about made out Eir’s relief at his safe return.

  Rika merely asked, ‘Is Artemisia with you? Are her people coming?’

  ‘No, my lady,’ Brynd replied. ‘She’s awaiting further communications. They’ve a few matters of their own to deal with.’ And I need to ensure the people know that they are our allies before we bring them into the city . . .

  He was ushered to the platform and he climbed the steps two at a time. Directly in front of him, the army was lined up beautifully, impassive amidst the hubbub of their welcoming. People were pooled on either side, their hands in the air, chanting a range of slogans that blended into a hum of noise. Torches moved through the crowds like slow fireflies. There must have been several thousand people piled into these wide streets to listen to what he had to report. Brynd soaked it up, thriving on their energy, before he held aloft his hand for silence. It took the better part of a minute for the noise to die down enough so that he could begin his impromptu speech.

  ‘We return as victors,’ Brynd began. The noise immediately built up and, once again, he held his hand up for silence. He waited. ‘We return as victors, and with new allies – new friends of our own races who helped us save the lives . . .’ he paused before his exaggeration . . . ‘of over a hundred thousand refugees who were fleeing atrocities on Jokull and, in the short term, we issued a comprehensive defeat to our enemies, the Okun, the same ones who tried to take Villiren from us – we stopped them here, and we stopped them on Jokull.’

  Another noise of approval echoed between the high stone walls.

  ‘However,’ he announced, ‘I am afraid to report that there was an unimagined catastrophe on Jokull. The legendary city of Villjamur has fallen, and the man who falsely claimed the Imperial throne – the former Chancellor Urtica – is dead.’ There was a murmur that moved through the crowds and Brynd could not tell whether or not they were angry or ambivalent. ‘What is left of the Empire is in a fractured state and, given the damage, it may take many, many years to fully regain the glories of the past. Villiren’s position – this great, healing city – was not certain until now. But I can tell you this: Villiren, this city which we are proud to stand in, is the new jewel within the Empire’s ashes. It is the new centrepoint. It is the hub of the new era. Villiren receives the glories it deserves.’

  The crowd slowly built up another cheer.

  ‘This will benefit us all,’ he continued, ‘because the city will expand, and it will be the focus of development plans. Where there is an opportunity, it will be taken. Where the city is broken, it will heal stronger. There will be jobs and commerce, and we will see greater democratic rights and social rights for the poor – with one condition.’

  He left the statement hanging there, looking across the rows of now expectant faces. Then he waited just another moment more, because it was important they knew what awaited them.

  ‘There is only one thing that stands between us and the paradise this city can become. The very people that assaulted Villiren have taken the island of Jokull for their own and they will move from island to island until they reach us. All I ask is that all healthy individuals offer their services to fight for this noble cause: you will be fighting for your future, for your families, and for your homes. Without such assistance, I dare not think of the consequences . . . If you remain alive afterwards, this world will be a perilous place.

  ‘However, if we are victorious, you have my word that there will be access to hospitals for the poorest, initiatives to ensure all families are fed, and the new governing bodies will see an investment in new industries to see that there will be jobs for all those who return. We will see you are looked after. We even have the finances to pay decent wages for those who join up.’

  There was a hubbub, but he couldn’t tell what they were thinking.

  ‘Of course, there is one other path available to us – a path I would not like us to choose, and that would be to do nothing. We simply carry on as we are and we do not fight. We will most likely see ourselves encircled in this city again – under siege once again. I believe you will agree with me in thinking that to be an unfavourable option.’

  People had been stunned into silence. They had come here in their thousands to celebrate something – anything, perhaps, given what happened to Villiren – and while he had them there Brynd had moved them straight into the next stage of his planning. He knew he wouldn’t have such an ideal opportunity again. He could feel the gaze of the Empress, and probably the bankers and the lawmakers around him, fuming that he had not consulted them on any of these matters.

  ‘These islands will be united against the forces that have invaded from beyond our realms of knowledge,’ he continued. ‘But you should know we are not alone any more. This recent victory was only possible due to help from friends elsewhere. They are . . .’ He searched for the word, knowing it would be crucial. ‘Neighbouring races. They are, indeed, our neighbours, from a place off our known maps, but they are friendly and skilled. Some of them look just like you, just like me. Some of them look . . . a little different, but they are still our neighbours and our allies and they helped save the lives of our people. They offered many of their own as sacrifice. These neighbours are very different from our enemies – these alien races that seek to destroy us. We must welcome them if we are to defeat the aliens. They are our friends in our hour of need.’

  The mood was different again: hesitant, confused.

  ‘But tonight is a time for rejoicing.’ His voice became noticeably more upbeat. ‘With our allies, our military has – for the second time – defeated the alien terrors that seek to ruin our lands and our peoples. Let me tell you it was a spectacular display, one that served our people proud. The future is a much brighter place than it was several days ago. And all of us within those walls’ – he gestured to the Citadel behind him – ‘will dedicate our lives to ensuring Villir
en’s safety and prosperity.’

  Brynd turned to walk from the platform and trumpets began to sound, the noise ricocheting around the streets. Only then did Brynd realize how much his heart was racing, how his palms were sweating. He stepped down to ground level, where he was guided like an emperor towards Rika and Eir. It felt strange, being sheltered like this: he was the one who should be protecting people.

  An avenue opened up through the staff and military personnel for him to walk back to the Citadel.

  Suddenly, Randur Estevu – of all people – lurched into view from his position alongside Eir. ‘Commander,’ he grunted, ‘it’s urgent I speak with you.’

  ‘Can it wait?’ Brynd replied. ‘I’ve just returned from a mission, if you haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Appreciate that, sir, but this is absolutely fucking serious.’ His voice was more discreet now, and he kept looking back towards the Jamur sisters, who were being marshalled up along the main track inside. ‘It concerns your plans for the future,’ he added. ‘It concerns . . . her.’ He tilted his head towards Rika.

  Brynd nodded. ‘I’ll quickly settle some affairs. Meet me in my quarters in one hour.’

  ‘Right you are, commander,’ Randur replied, and shuffled his way back towards Eir’s side.

  What a curious fellow, Brynd thought.

  *

  Brynd opened the door to his chamber and Randur practically collapsed into the room. He stood up straight and peered behind him out of the door.

  ‘You seem quite the paranoid man,’ Brynd said with amusement.

  ‘Paranoid men don’t handle secrets well.’

  ‘I can handle a secret all right,’ Randur replied. ‘It’s creepy, bat-shit-crazy women I can’t handle.’

  Brynd gestured to a chair by the fire, then closed the door behind Randur.

  ‘Would you mind bolting it too?’

  ‘As you wish,’ Brynd sighed, and obliged.

  Randur shuffled over nervously and took his place in a wonderfully ornate wooden chair. He frowned and struggled to ease himself into it. ‘Not very comfortable, this chair of yours. I would’ve thought someone in your position would use something more comfortable to rest his arse.’

  ‘It keeps me from falling asleep too much by the fire,’ Brynd replied, taking the seat next to him. ‘Now, would the loving partner of Jamur Eir be good enough to tell me why I can’t get a moment’s peace on my return? What is it that you find so urgent and secret?’

  ‘Right you are, boss,’ Randur said. He leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his thighs and began his story.

  He reminded Brynd of their exchange on Rika’s change in personality and behaviour. What he then went on to describe caused a great deal of discomfort to Brynd.

  ‘So there I am, in the middle of the city, and she’s eating the kid’s arm.’ Randur leaned back and held up his own as if to prove his point. ‘She’s biting the flesh like some rabid – no, not rabid – a starving dog.’ He gave a remarkable level of detail, location, time of day, lighting, who else was around, whom he reported it to – enough to convince Brynd that Randur believed what he saw.

  ‘Don’t think I’m mad, will you?’

  ‘I did already.’ Brynd tried to remain expressionless. ‘And you’re quite certain that it was Rika? It couldn’t have been someone else?’

  ‘I didn’t see her kill anyone, I’ll say that much, but I saw what I saw. I came back here when I lost her to find her back with Eir. She claimed she’d been out on business. What’s more, when I was in my room earlier she was there at the window.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She just vanished, like some spirit.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure of this?’ Brynd pressed. ‘It seems more than a little fanciful that she was just hanging about outside.’

  Randur shrugged. ‘I’m just telling you what I’ve seen. I’m not asking anyone to believe me – but given that you’re about to make this woman the centre of your new world, I thought you might like to know she’s one wave short of a shipwreck. Might not go down well with the electorate once she starts eating them.’

  ‘Colourfully put,’ Brynd muttered and considered the matter for a while longer. Was there any reason not to believe Randur? They had both witnessed Rika’s deterioration, and Randur had personally seen her safe passage across the Archipelago. He harboured no grudges that Brynd knew of, either, and now his demeanour seemed genuine. Brynd knew the look of panic in someone, and Randur was displaying it here genuinely. Despite his sceptical nature, Brynd was inclined to believe that there was something in what Randur said that was probably the truth.

  Which was a deeply distressing realization.

  ‘What do you think you’ll do about her?’ Randur asked.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest, but I believe you saw what you say you saw.’

  ‘Huh, which means you could think I had the eyes of a madman.’

  ‘It’s a very thin line between a sane person and a mad one. Some suggest that the only difference between perceptions of sanity and madness is the status of the person in question.’

  Randur grunted a laugh. ‘I’ve seen some weird shit in my time, I can tell you, enough to last me a lifetime. I saw what I saw. This was an extraordinary sight.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt you felt it was.’

  ‘Do you think it’s related to Artemisia?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, Rika does seem rather keen on the woman – emotionally attached. It’s a bit like love gone wrong, their relationship.’

  Brynd regarded the flames of the fire as they began to die down. He reached forward to throw another log on, and gazed as the flames licked at the wood. ‘She enquired about Artemisia earlier – it was the first and only thing she asked of me. Not how the battle went, not how many casualties there were, nothing about the refugees.’

  ‘Look,’ Randur said, ‘I’m no politician, but is she really the kind of lass you want to be putting in front of folk? Do you really want people to put their support behind someone who’s not all there?’

  ‘She is the Jamur heir,’ Brynd replied. ‘It is as simple as that.’

  ‘Madness took her father, didn’t it?’

  ‘It did. I was there when he fell to his death.’

  ‘Oh,’ Randur said.

  ‘This isn’t the same kind of madness. It was paranoia that affected her father, and was an affliction that accumulated slowly over the years.’

  After a pause, Randur said, ‘I only hope Eir keeps her wits.’

  ‘She’ll have to with you as her partner.’ Brynd smiled.

  Randur’s own smile faded. ‘Look, chief, to be perfectly frank, I’m a bit worried – she was outside my window. You know what I’m saying? She knows that I saw her. She knows that I’m a threat – and is no doubt worried I’ll tell you about her secret.’

  ‘Well, she’d be right,’ Brynd pointed out.

  ‘Oh very funny.’ Randur stood up and pointed at Brynd. ‘If I end up as some midnight feast, with all my youthful limbs bearing her teeth marks, I will personally come back as a spirit to haunt you. And I’ll be twice as annoying when I’m dead.’

  Brynd chuckled and waved him down. ‘Don’t worry, Randur. Firstly, you’re with Eir each night, right? Rika would not bother her sister, I wouldn’t have thought. She’s had hundreds of opportunities to kill her – or indeed anyone at the Citadel. No, I’d say if she’s hunting in the streets, she doesn’t want to be seen – perhaps she’s aware of her own urges, and is therefore trying to avoid being caught in the act.’

  ‘I don’t know – I think we can safely assume she’s not right in the head,’ Randur said, and began to saunter around the room. ‘Anything could happen.’

  Brynd turned in his chair to follow Randur’s steps. ‘OK, I’ll have two soldiers stationed outside your door and we can make sure your window gets boarded up – we can claim it’s broken.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it.’ Randu
r picked up one of Brynd’s swords from the rack against the wall. ‘Decent blade, this.’ He began to work through some moves that seemed a little genteel at first, then Brynd could see some real flair there.

  ‘We’ve not had the pleasure of sparring yet, have we?’ Brynd asked. ‘Perhaps we can see what you’re made of soon.’

  Randur finished a series of moves with a flourish. ‘I’d like that,’ he replied. ‘I was without doubt the best swordsman on my island. I fought my way across the archipelago to keep the Jamur flame burning. I’d say I’d hold my own.’

  ‘That is if you’re not eaten in the night.’

  ‘I don’t especially like your jokes,’ Randur said. ‘They’re not actually funny.’

  ‘Who was making a joke?’ Brynd replied coolly.

  Randur grunted his reply. ‘So, what will you do regarding Rika’s position?’

  ‘I need to sleep on it first,’ Brynd replied. ‘The mission has drained me somewhat, and I think it needs the clarity of a good night’s rest before I actually engage with the situation.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Randur replied, and moved towards the door. ‘But it might be worth having her followed, in case you’re not sure whether or not to really trust me.’ He flipped back the bolts and opened the door cautiously to see if anyone was outside. He waited a good minute before he was confident and then he glanced back into the room. ‘Thanks for taking the time to listen.’

  Brynd gestured wearily. ‘I appreciate you telling me – honestly, I do.’

  As Randur closed the door, Brynd sighed and approached the window. He moved his hand to draw back the curtain – paused, bearing in mind what Randur had said about Rika – then with a swift flick of his arm he pulled them open.

  There was nothing there, no creature scaling the walls, no mad former Empress. Only the cityscape of Villiren presented itself and Brynd stared down on the glistening beacons and lanterns around the harbour. He had only just arrived back from fighting and wondered if the situation could get any worse. If what Randur said was true, and rumours broke out across the city, Brynd knew just what that would do to his plans to get the remains of the Empire moving forward.