Nights of Villjamur (13 page)

'My point,' Brynd interrupted, 'was to discover how we came to be ambushed. Our mission was supposedly known only to high-level members of this Council.' Brynd was staring directly at Chancellor Urtica. The man shifted slightly, but kept an expression of concern.

'This is indeed a tragedy, but such things do happen in military operations, commander. If there was a way--'

'I'm just trying to find out why my men died unnecessarily, chancellor.'

'We will set up an investigation into this matter for you, but meanwhile your assignment is to escort back Jamur Rika.'

'What if she doesn't want to return?' Brynd said. 'It's no enigma that she despised the Emperor for his treatment of her late mother.'

'The Emperor is no longer with us, and it is your job to persuade her. We here need her. Villjamur needs her.'

Brynd did not quite understand the urgency - it was the Council that dictated Imperial strategy, and Johynn had only really ever been required for his signature. 'I'll leave tomorrow morning then,' he agreed.

At that point, Councillor Boll interrupted, a slender, short man who would have looked like a child except for his withered skin and grey hair.

'Commander, there have also been a number of sightings recently,' he began, 'of phenomena we are not entirely certain of. We're getting reports of a series of murders on Tineag'l,' Boll explained. 'And people disappearing in large numbers. Admittedly these are only word of mouth from impressionable locals, and we've yet to hear anything from more reputable sources.'

'You wish me to investigate? Report back on what I see?' This wasn't exactly the sort of mission Brynd was used to.

'More or less,' Urtica concurred. 'Nothing to concern yourself with particularly at this moment - at least not until you return. But you can understand our concern that something may be on the loose out there, picking at what's left of our Empire. Killing valuable subordinates.'

'What's left of them if the ice doesn't get them first,' Brynd said sharply.

'Indeed,' Urtica said, then turned to Eir. 'Jamur Eir, in this most unfortunate time for you, I ask that in the interim you take stewardship of the city on your sister's behalf.'

'Of course, Chancellor Urtica,' Eir replied flatly. 'I shall do everything that is necessary.'

'We will make a public announcement shortly,' Urtica concluded. 'Thank you both for your time.'

A rather abrupt dismissal, but at least they were out of there. As he followed Eir from the Atrium, Brynd had to stifle a laugh. No sooner had he returned to Villjamur than he had to leave it again.

*

Brynd was invited to take dinner with Eir, the temporary Stewardess of Villjamur. He had often eaten with the late Emperor, when their conversation would inevitably turn to his most recent mission, or battle tactic, but he had always felt uncomfortable when she was present, because he felt he should not be talking war at the dining table. Tonight, while she picked at the lobster, she was sitting bolt upright, still wearing that black gown which, in this light, made her pale skin glow as white as his own.

'How're you feeling?' he asked eventually.

A distance in her eyes, a disconnection. 'I'm fine,' she snapped. She looked down at her plate again.

The hides of various animals covered the walls and floors. As a fire spat loudly nearby, the poor lighting made the place look as if there were reanimated carcasses all around him.

'Are you looking forward to your sister's return?'

'Yes, very much so.' Eir looked up, her eyes suddenly brighter. 'It's been so long since she . . . since she left us.'

'Do you think that she'll ever forgive him?'

'I hope so. It's possible. She's become a rather different woman since she embraced the Jorsalir Church.'

Brynd considered the point. 'Perhaps the Empire will benefit from someone with such strong beliefs. Do you forgive him, if you don't mind my asking?'

'I hated him.' Eir pushed her plate away, slumping back in her chair. 'You don't have to stay here just on my behalf, commander.'

Brynd replied, 'I know that. But you're better company than most in this damn place.'

She said, 'I hardly think I'm good company for anyone at the moment.' She was clearly struggling to control her emotions.

Brynd did nothing to fill the silence.

Eventually she spoke again. 'Well, now that he's gone . . . This sounds awful of me to say . . .'

'No, go on, say it.'

'It's like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders.'

Brynd said, 'Yes, I think I understand. Talk.'

'I had to keep an eye on him all the time. That means I've not had much of a life here.'

'Eir, you've had as good a childhood as you could expect in your position. Your mother would be proud if she could see you.'

She continued, 'But now he's gone, I don't have to do that any more. I don't have to watch out when he starts drinking too much, or apologizing to servants when he soils his bedsheets. I don't have to stand the other side of a locked door when he's ranting because of his paranoia. Yet every time I don't have to do something, these free moments, it reminds me he's dead.'

'Which means you've got a life of your own back now.'

'Really?' She smiled bitterly. 'This isn't much of a way to go about things. Because of my blood I get treated a little better than most women in Villjamur, certainly. But there's a list of men waiting to marry me within the year, and I've never even met half of them. Think of how valuable their prize is now. I understand Imperial policies, commander. I understand my life will be little more to this government than supporting income flows.'

'Sometimes, in this world, we don't have the option to find love,' Brynd muttered, and realized he was addressing both of them. 'Matters of the heart are not always for us to decide. Situations don't always allow it.'

'Love.' She almost sneered at the word. 'You're a man; you wouldn't understand.'

Brynd motioned for the servant to take away their plates. As the boy left the room, he continued, 'It's OK to be upset, Eir. It's natural to mourn.'

'I'm not upset.' Her tone had changed from before, and he could tell she was closing herself up, protecting her mind with walls.

Conversation had slowed, an awkward silence taking its place. Eir stared at nothing, occasionally closing her eyes completely as if to shut out the world.

After a moment he stood up.

'Are you going?' she asked, but she still wasn't looking at him.

'There's a good chance someone with my personality might make you even more miserable,' he said, and a half-smile seemed to suggest she liked that comment. 'The Dawnir wants to see me. Since I'm off soon, I'd better go and visit him now. Get some sleep if you can.'

He left her alone in the room with the sound of his boots leaving and the spitting fire.

*

Brynd set off along the winding stone passages until he finally reached the Dawnir's chamber, a secluded vault built some way into the cliff face, far away from the rich adornments of Balmacara. This was an ancient remnant of an older structure, the stonework of its walls worn smooth over hundreds of years.

Brynd banged his fist on the iron door of the Dawnir's vault. It looked rather like the entrance to a gaol.

Slow footsteps sounded on the other side. The door opened. A shaft of lantern light fell upon his face. 'Sele of Jamur, it's Commander Brynd of the House of Lathraea.'

A gruff voice said, 'Please, enter.'

Immediately behind the door, the Dawnir stood, stooping slightly.

'Sele of Jamur,' Brynd replied, and shuffled forwards.

'I am very glad you could come and visit me, Commander Brynd Lathraea,' the Dawnir said. 'The times are interesting.'

'As always,' Brynd agreed, watching the Dawnir close the door behind him. Standing one armspan taller than Brynd, and covered in a bush of brown hair, his host wore a simple loin cloth.

He always seemed to be hunching, probably because there was no one else of his height to talk to. His eyes were like large black balls set deep in a narrow, goat-shaped head, while his gums exposed a pair of tusks the length of a forearm.

'And how are you, Jurro?' Brynd asked. 'I received word you wished to see me.'

The Dawnir waved an impossibly large hand towards a chair. Three walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and more were piled up around the simple wooden furniture. There were beautiful bindings, and some had degraded significantly.

A sheep carcass was draped upon a table across the room, quietly stinking the place out.

'Could do with some incense in here,' Brynd muttered.

After a moment of intense frowning, Jurro spoke. 'Ah, a joke. Very good, Brynd Lathraea, very good. Irony, you call it, yes?'

Brynd reclined further in the chair, and picked up a book, but found it was in a language he didn't know. The fonts suggested it might be something from Boll or Tineag'l, or some other Empire outpost.

'That one is a history of dance on Folke,' Jurro explained.

'Doesn't look like Folken,' Brynd replied.

'Indeed not, Brynd Lathraea. It was written over a thousand years ago, and language changes.'

Brynd pursed his lips, placed the book to one side.

'I was looking at it because of the Snow Ball that the highborn humans and the rumel have organized. I do hope I will be able to attend it.'

'Don't see why not,' Brynd said. 'You're no prisoner.'

'Indeed not, but I do feel like one at times. I don't get many true visitors either, just those hoping I can help solve their petty problems. Yet I am not an oracle. I know no magic. And, besides, as if I would know . . .' the Dawnir trailed off to replace the book on one of the shelves.

'So how does the study go?'

'Nothing new. No revelations. These histories of the Boreal Archipelago are fascinating, though. There are many inconsistencies in the texts, which leads me to believe the history is deeper than is publicly known, and known less than is publicly history. And I have some . . . some considerable time on my hands. I'm in no hurry, therefore. The books I've read on the previous ice ages are indeed interesting. They seem to have been the bringer of death to many a good civilization, so I can see why our Council are anxious.' Jurro pushed forward a large chair constructed from iron, with heavy padding. The Dawnir sighed thunderously as he reclined. He held up one large text, a leather-bound tome the size of a small tabletop. 'This is called
The Book of the Wonders of Earth and Sky
, and it details eras so far ago that they are assumed legend. I read today our forests were once lost entirely. We now call trees by the names in which their seeds had been stored below the Earth. I read once again that the sun was once much more yellow than our own. If this is true, then our sun is losing strength, and it is dying slowly. There is, perhaps predictably, nothing within the pages to suggest my own origins. I remain full of pathos.'

Brynd had heard many philosophical meanderings from Jurro. This creature had reportedly been within the city over a thousand years, nearly as long as this pile of stones had been called Villjamur. That's what Jurro himself claimed anyway. He had been originally discovered wandering the icy coastline of north Jokull, with no memory. Having survived this long, he was now assumed to be immortal, though Brynd wondered morosely what it would be like to live for so long without even knowing your roots. He himself shared something with the Dawnir in this respect. Brynd had been adopted as a child by wealthy parents, and therefore had no real concept of his own origins. Who would ever want to know where an albino came from anyway?

'So how about your health? Do you feel well?' Brynd said.

'No, I need more exercise. I envy you, endlessly on your little missions here and there.'

Somehow, Jurro had just managed to belittle Brynd's entire career with a single sentence.

'You must take me along with you some time, because I would like to see more of the Archipelago. It could jog my memory; I might recognize something of my own past. It might even be fun.'

'Why not, if it helps at all? But, you obviously won't have heard about our latest mission.'

Then Brynd gave the Dawnir the details of his last few days.

'Indeed, a complex situation,' Jurro said. 'I will put my ear, as you say, to the ground for you.'

'Thanks,' Brynd said. 'You heard about our Emperor?'

'Yes. Again, curious. But his mind was never quite there, was it?'

'I'll be fetching his elder daughter to be our new Empress.'

'Jamur Rika? Of course. Is she not a child still?'

'No, she's twenty now.'

'How quickly you grow, you humans!' The Dawnir seemed utterly delighted at this observation.

They talked a while longer about news from the city, the refugees camping outside the gates. And then Jurro began to ramble about the wild flowers of Dockull and Maour. Brynd could only listen to Jurro's expositions for so long, and gently interrupted him.

'Jurro, I don't suppose you know anything of the killings reported on Tineag'l, do you?'