City Of Ruin

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘How can I trust that it works?’

  ‘Who knows what they got up to in times gone by – but they was darker folk than in our own day. Now, wait here.’ The old man stepped away to the back and Nelum was left with only the sound of laughter eerily drifting somewhere in the distance. He eventually returned with a steel cage, inside which a fat rat scampered aimlessly. Beckoning Nelum closer, he sat the cage down and poked the strange blade between its bars. The rat merely brushed up against the tip of the blade, but instantly it began to shudder, then convulsed, its entire body contorting and blisters forming under the fur. It finally collapsed on its side and Nelum realized it had died, but its body was still reacting violently to the toxin.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Nelum declared.

  When the old man described a phenomenally high price, Nelum was forced to reach for a second purse of coins. The blade was wrapped up and boxed and slipped under Nelum’s cloak, before he left the broken-down building to find his horse.

  *

  A knock on his chamber door, and Brynd jolted awake to find he’allen asleep across his missives. Zones across his shoulder and necad become bitingly stiff from the combat.

  A messenger shuffled into the room, announcing more bad news.

  There had been confirmation from the scouts that the enemy werndeed taking prisoners. Over a thousand citizens of all ages were noocked up in a warehouse somewhere in the west of the city, anhips were lining up to transport them to the north.

  *

  Later that night, Brynd asked Nelum to meet him in the obsidiahamber to discuss a possible mission to the warehouse. Lupus watanding by the far wall, studying maps of the area that the enemad captured.

  The central table seemed increasingly an extension of Brynd himself, so much of his business was now conducted from here. This wasn’t soldiering any longer, it was administration.

  After explaining the news in detail he rested on his elbows and peered across at his lieutenant. The man seemed more agitated than he’d ever known, and it seemed he had not listened to a word just said. Brynd knew this to be totally out of character for him.

  ‘Part of the Night Guard’s duty is protection of the Empire’s subjects,’ Brynd said, by way of reminder. ‘It seems there are many innocent civilians imprisoned and waiting to die, and I believe we must devise a way to get them out of there with minimal loss of military personnel.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Nelum frowned at the table. ‘I’m sure I can come up with a strategy.’

  Brynd wanted to do that himself, but as a gesture to Nelum, he backed down. ‘If you wouldn’t mind. So long as absolute stealth is integral to—’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ Nelum snapped.

  Ungrateful bastard. ‘Lieutenant, you need to show some more respect for your commanding officer.’

  A pause, as Nelum searched his mind for the right words. ‘I find it difficult, is all. I think the stress of this campaign is getting to me.’

  ‘Getting to you?’ Brynd stood up suddenly, tipping his chair to one side. ‘You think I’m not fucking stressed? I know exactly what you mean, lieutenant. But you remain under my command. Is that fucking clear?’

  Nelum’s eyes betrayed his rage.

  ‘Indeed, commander.’

  At that point, Brynd suspected he had lost any future support from his second-in-command. He realized that Lupus was facing them now, wide-eyed and uncertain how to act. ‘As you were, private,’ Brynd ordered, and Lupus turned silently to face the maps again.

  Brynd moved to pick up his chair and brought it calmly to the table. ‘The only question is how we do this. I suggest it needs to be a night mission, because although witnesses say the Okun can be active after dark, it seems they prefer not to fight then – and neither do our own forces – but at least we Night Guard are enhanced. Somehow, we’ll need to penetrate a zone that lies deep within enemy ground, without being seen.’

  ‘We could use the garudas,’ Nelum suggested eventually, and Brynd liked that idea.

  *

  Hours had passed and still it wasn’t the right time – it seemed thae’d never find the right time. Sleep had so far avoided him, as Neluet his concerns and angst continue to ricochet around inside his head.

  He pushed himself up, got dressed, picked up the case containing thotulinum blade. He unwrapped the curiosity and held it before him, marvelling at the technology involved.

  The two men he shared the room with – Brug and Haal – would be out of the way for the next few hours, wading through the messages and directives in the report.

  Which meant Brynd himself should be taking this opportunity to get some sleep.

  How dare the albino talk to him like that – in front of Lupus. There was no respect from Brynd, no appreciation of how Nelum’s mind liked to work. He wished to shut out all distraction in order to formulate this operation, and all the commander did was offer annoying assistance. Nelum needed no help. No, if there is ever a time to do it, it’s now.

  He pulled up a black hood to keep his face in shadow, then headed outside. Soft footsteps on the flagstones, as he moved along the corridors with the blade ready in his hand. There was hardly anyone else up at this hour, and he felt himself more on edge than he’d ever known. His senses were sharpened by his desire not to get caught, every sound alerted his gaze, every flicker of light ahead challenged him.

  Four doors along on the right was Brynd’s room – the commander preferring to sleep apart from the rest of the men. If this had not been a time of war, there would have been night sentinels stationed along the corridor, but now every single soldier needed to be fresh to fight.

  Nelum took a breath to steady his nerves, and listened for any sound of movement inside. His grip on the door handle was so gentle, almost caressing it open, without a sound.

  He slunk inside.

  There, at the far end of the room, lay a man breathing to the rhythm of his dreams. The milky light of the moons filtered through a tiny round window high up on the wall and, as his eyes rapidly adjusted, Nelum could make out clearly the form of the commander on the bed.

  A pale face turned slightly, and the words were whispered suddenly: ‘I wondered how long.’

  The chink of metal unsheathing, and Nelum moved fast. Brynd must have kept a blade ready by his pillow.

  They fought desperately in the dark. In an instant they were locked together, gripping each other’s wrists, muscles stinging, then Nelum felt two sharp blows connecting with his ribcage before he managed to headbutt Brynd away, with a heavy grunt.

  After their separation there was a pause, as each of them waited for the other to strike.

  Nelum lunged again, his blade skilfully slicing back and forth, forcing Brynd to topple forwards. Nelum kicked his opponent’s legs under him, but Brynd gripped Nelum’s ankle then raked a knife across his shins. Nelum managed to twist himself away but the agonizing pain had him writhing on the floor as the commander began to retaliate.

  Nelum managed to grab and deflect Brynd’s wrist, sending the commander’s knife skimming across the floor. He then kneed Brynd in the stomach. The albino grunted, forced himself upright in an instant. He aimed a punch at Nelum’s cheek – something cracked – and now it was Nelum’s turn to feel pain. Brynd slammed a sideways kick across his knees, bringing him buckling back to the floor again.

  Brynd punched down on to his neck.

  Nelum’s breath escaped him rapidly. He gasped for air, holding the toxic blade up uselessly. Then, as he reached for his damaged throat, the knife in his hand slipped . . .

  *

  Brynd watched Nelum’s face flicker like a stroke victim’s, then it contorted dramatically. His limbs collapsed into abnormal postures, and he began juddering movements. He arced his spine and tried to scream, but only gasps and saliva emerged. The muscles on his face began to twitch hideously, as his skin bubbled and blistered. Then after what seemed far too long, Nelum fell still.

  Brynd struggled to one side and lit
a candle. Some strange blade made of alien technology was partially lodged in Nelum’s chest.

  Dear Bohr . . . What is in that knife?

  Nelum’s skin had turned a vibrant red, his body so deformed that Brynd could barely recognize him. For a moment, Brynd’s breathing came in short, sharp gasps.

  Why did you have to come after me, Nelum? Just because of your damn beliefs and prejudice? They had been comrades for years – close enough to know each other’s quirks. How could Nelum have planned to kill him, after all they’d both been through?

  Brynd slumped back against the bed and pressed his face into his palms.

  FORTY-NINE

  Brynd now had to wake up his unit in the middle of the night. Bleary-eyed and half asleep they shuffled to the obsidian room, where in near-darkness he told them of the murderous attempt on him, and the outcome. Their reaction was a stunned silence.

  Did they believe him? Would they think he had killed Nelum because of their recently expressed differences?

  ‘Why would Nelum attack you?’ Tiendi asked. Only the woman dared speak.

  ‘You tell me,’ Brynd suggested, scanning the rest of them for signs of insubordination, for subtle expressions indicating anyone else out to get him. If he wasn’t careful, he could become completely paranoid. ‘He just came into my room with a weapon when he thought I was asleep.’

  Brynd had already requested two of his men to help him carry in the body, carefully wrapped up in bed sheets. It now lay on the table, and Brynd pulled the sheets aside to reveal the corpse.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ someone gasped.

  ‘Shit.’

  The bubbling beneath the dead man’s skin had worsened, leaving little to identify him except his uniform. His arms were bent out of shape, one of his legs so swollen that it had split his breeches open.

  ‘What could have caused such a reaction, commander?’ Lupus asked.

  ‘Whatever that blade was made from.’ Brynd gestured to the weapon still in the corpse’s chest. ‘Probably some hybrid form of poison – which was intended for me. I’m making no assumptions that he was working alone.’

  Silently, members of the Night Guard huddled around the body, then some walked away as if trying to distance themselves from this hideous sight. One or two exchanged glances and Brynd examined their movements. Judging by their body language, this was as much a mystery to them as it was to him.

  Tiendi persisted, ‘I don’t get it. Why did he want to kill you?’ Because I’m gay. Because I’m an abomination to his definition of man. Because his beliefs told him to? ‘I can only guess he didn’t agree with my decisions in some way.’

  *

  Ice-wet steps descended to the central courtyard of the Citadel. Layers of moss and lichen added to the gloom. Sombre and still shocked, the Night Guard formed a respectful line past which Brynd, Lupus, Brug and Mikill carried a stretcher bearing the silk-wrapped body of Lieutenant Nelum Valore. A few other people had gathered on the viewing platforms, peering down at this black-garbed troop of mourners.

  Morning sleet skidded past his face as Brynd helped steer the remains of his old friend – because that’s what he was, doesn’t matter what he’s done – towards the funeral pyre. He was acutely aware of the questioning gazes of his regiment. Some of them had not wanted a traitor burned with dignity.

  The line of soldiers stamped to attention, bringing their right fists to their chests. Brynd and Lupus steadied the front end of the black-shrouded stretcher bearing Nelum’s body, guiding it gently onto the head-high shelf, then stepped back in line with the others. Brynd gave the orders for the pyre to be lit. Someone applied a flaming torch to the base of the pyre and slowly the fire spread till it formed a beacon under the dark sky.

  ‘I hope your chosen gods will treat you well, lieutenant,’ Brynd whispered, staring through the shimmer of heat.

  Lupus leaned towards him. ‘It was good, doing this. That is a good gesture, given what he tried to do.’

  ‘He was still a Night Guard, private. Still, ultimately, a good man.’

  *

  The best of what the Empire had to offer was lined up in a chamber overlooking the north face of the Citadel. In the distance the sounds of combat drifted ever closer, like an approaching storm. A sense of dread hung in the air, as Brynd watched Blavat the cultist arranging her display of vials on the stone table to one side. He scrutinized all of the little glass containers, already knowing the order in which they’d be selected. Each moment seemed to stretch out in time, as he kept getting tangled up in his own thoughts.

  The rest of the unit was morose, standing with arms folded in a contemplative silence. Brynd reminded himself to work on their morale before the mission, since he needed their dedication, especially now.

  Lupus volunteered to go first, his partner Beami standing ready to conduct the new augmentations. Lupus removed his shirt and lay down on the plinth, the others waiting and watching mournfully like he was preparing himself to die. Relics were made ready, metallic and crystalline devices lined up, plates attached to his head, then he and his partner shared a final glance before he was injected with extra life. He coughed a loud gasp, clenching his fists then fell to the floor. Beami gently helped him over to the side of the room, where he gripped his gut and rubbed his head.

  Everyone stared in anticipation. He seemed completely alive and well and flabbergasted at his new-found senses. He described possession of enhanced qualities that made Brynd excited.

  The others followed suit. One after another came Tiendi, Syn, Mikill, Brug, Smoke, Haal, Bondi, and the rest: injection, gasp, collapse, struggle upright, alive.

  Then Brynd himself approached the plinth, baring his chest before the cultist. Cold metal penetrated his skin and a surge of technology exploded through his veins –

  Like being plunged in ice-water.

  Breath fled from his body and he felt his heart beat in a myriad of rhythms. In one instant he felt crippled, then the next, utterly healed. It was only a few seconds before the side-effects were overcome by the new enhancements. Brynd suddenly became quite aware of the changes in his body: the throb of muscle. His sense of smell was more acute, and his vision sharpened by a new quality that he didn’t yet know how to control.

  *

  Twenty minutes later, and Brynd requested an update of the current status of the citizens being held captive. The latest estimation was one thousand five hundred. The Night Guard was gathered around the massive table of the obsidian chamber feeling much darker and more oppressive than it had ever been. He related the data to them.

  To Brynd’s newly enhanced vision, the outlines of people’s expressions appeared so acutely prominent that he could almost read their minds. Eighteen of them left, all in all, and Bohr-knows how many of the enemy. Brynd had to remind them just how much more efficient the Night Guard would prove on an individual basis, and that their extra enhancements might have made them near indestructible. Confidence and psychology were the key.

  Brynd described the tactics:

  They would now initiate Last Resort Storming. Because the warehouse was deep within enemy territory, a squad of garudas would drop them in, one bird for every soldier. They would swoop into a derelict street, half a mile to the south of their target location, where it had been reported there were minimal defences. Full-scale engagement had to be delayed as long as possible, therefore any interim combat would have to be swift and silent. Cultists could provide them with newly developed Reykr relics, a smokescreen tool. They would be armed with a sabre, a dagger, and a crossbow, and in small groups would penetrate in five locations, while garudas would blanket-bomb with Brenna three hundred yards north, to cause a distraction.

  They would start under cover of darkness, but meanwhile there was still one other person Brynd wanted to speak to before the evening began.

  *

  He found her waiting as requested, in a dark annexe of the hospital, far enough away from the screams and howls of surgical horror. She was sl
umped in a chair at a table, a hot beverage beside her.

  When he addressed her Nanzi looked up at him meekly, her hands still resting in her lap. Her eyes revealed the trauma of witnessing so many people in terrible pain. How could she ever be a killer, this woman who was little more than a girl?

  ‘Good afternoon, commander,’ she murmured expectantly.

  Brynd nodded a greeting, then ploughed on. ‘With your . . . ability of transformation. What can you do with it precisely? I believe, you can ensnare several victims at a time.’

  She expelled a bitter sigh. ‘You want me to fight, don’t you? You want the big bad monster to go to war on your behalf.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ Brynd divulged the details of his operation. ‘So you see, I’d like to make use of your skills, to secure certain vantage points that would help us infiltrate where necessary, then use your . . . secretions to hold back the enemy as we advance. And to aid with wounds, as you currently do.’

  ‘I will try,’ Nanzi agreed finally, then suddenly broke down in tears.

  Brynd felt uncomfortable at this emotional outburst. She was a killer, nothing more, but he couldn’t let her see his resentment.

  ‘Look, after this war’s over, I promise both you and this Voland chap can leave as free people. You’ll have my word.’

  She regarded him in wide-eyed incredulity. ‘I will do as you say.’

  *

  Armed and ready, the Night Guard lined up in neat rows in the Citadel quadrangle, while storm-torches flared and receded in the breeze. Brynd paraded up and down, calling out instructions, last-minute strategy. Then, in hand language he signalled to the garudas perched above.

  They glided down, each landing behind a member of the Night Guard. They linked straps, binding man and bird together. Brynd gave some brief commands: the garudas spread their massive wings outwards, and the soldiers crouched in unison with the bird-soldiers, an awkward joint posture.