Nights of Villjamur (33 page)

'Very kind of you to warn me, commander. But I'm sure I'm capable of looking after myself.'

Brynd retreated, ordered the entourage to ride on.

Rika stared up at the city,
her
city, its landscape furnished with a sense of possession, so nothing would be the same as before.

Everything was as she remembered, and bittersweet memories lapped over her. The dream-like spires that disappeared up into damp mist. The hanging baskets everywhere encaging the beautiful flowers of the tundra. The soaring bridges, the grey-red stone, the ever-busy people. And Balmacara in the centre. Her own history came back in flashes: a childhood spent staring out of windows at these same sights, not being permitted to have much contact outside Balmacara. Days of boredom. The trauma of her father beating her mother, of beating Rika herself. And little Eir brightening random moments with her naivety, a child's voice echoing down the corridors. It was amazing what mere clusters of assembled rock could do to the mind.

Forget about all that. It's the past. Think of the future.

*

Her sister already stood waiting for her inside, her face erupting in emotions. After the initial formality, Eir and Rika embraced for what, to Brynd, seemed like a season. The fond memories were returning, the gradual remembrance of their idiosyncrasies, all reflected in the softness of their glances and the way they would touch each other's arms.

After a long interlude of whispering, they seemed to remember that other people were gathered around them, listening, waiting.

The young page showed them into a formal chamber where several members of the Council were seated, all immediately rising to their feet.

Brynd and the rest of his Night Guard followed silently.

There he was, Chancellor Urtica, walking over to the new Empress. He took her hand, pressed it to his lips, after he briefly went down on one knee. 'Jamur Rika, a great honour. As your chancellor, may I welcome you to Villjamur, on behalf of the Council. Your presence here in this difficult time is most reassuring.'

'Hey,' Apium muttered to Brynd, 'he's not wasting his time in greasing up to her, is he?'

Brynd grunted a quiet laugh. He looked across to Nelum and Lupus, who stood silently, watching the Empress's every move - as they had been trained to do for her father.

'Who's that swarthy-looking stick of a fellow over there?' Apium whispered.

Brynd followed his gaze to a thin, handsome man standing in one corner of the chamber. With glossy black hair that cascaded down in curls, he wore smart clothes of the kind usually seen on the outer islands, but updated to make a splash in the city. He seemed a bit of a cliched dandy - even to Brynd. The man stood tall, his chin raised, his head angled in calculated postures. Several ladies of the court were huddled close to him, and every now and then he'd flash them a rehearsed grin.

Brynd raised an eyebrow. 'I've never seen him before. Why not ask one of the servants.'

Apium stepped away and returned moments later.

'His name is Randur Estevu, and apparently he's Lady Eir's tutor for sword and dance. I think I remember Johynn talking about getting someone in. I don't know, holding a bloody dancing event because the Archipelago's about to be plunged into an ice age. Ridiculous, if you ask me, these bloody nobles.'

'Aren't we ourselves technically nobles?' Brynd said.

'Aye, but, uh, at least we do something useful, not just prance about to music.'

'Last time you danced you cleared the floor - and not in a good way.'

'I had a bit to drink, I'll admit. Anyway, why should a soldier need rhythm?'

'Good sword skills,' Brynd explained. 'I'll bet that waif of a man can look after himself.'

Brynd regarded the curious-looking newcomer, this Randur. He certainly had good dress sense. The man suddenly looked back at him. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, then Randur glanced away.

Brynd turned his attention to Urtica, who was still fawning upon the new Empress, with forced laughter, fake smiles, overstated gestures - it was enough to make Brynd feel sick.

*

Later that afternoon, the sisters were allowed time in private, once it had been decided that Emperor Johynn's state funeral would take place in the morning. He was to be buried in the crypt under Balmacara, inside the caves, just like every ruler before him. For all other citizens, their bodies were burned on a pyre, much in line with the ancient tribal religions. It was thought that cremation sped their spirits towards one of the otherworlds, depending on how your life had been lived. Emperors alone were destined to stay in Villjamur forever, their bodies in the caves, decaying till they became part of the city, part of legend itself.

Their bones becoming Villjamur's bones.

Brynd discovered that after he'd gone, news of the Emperor's death had sent a slow shockwave through these corridors. Councillors had flapped around the place, murmuring portentous utterings, but all the time adding to a sense of unease. Brynd himself had noticed this malaise grow in the short time since his return. It manifested in a general lack of confidence, in an escalating mood of fear. But perhaps this mood was exacerbated by the coming of the ice age.

An initial ceremony would take place as the red sun rose. Then as the sun set, Rika would be proclaimed Empress, therefore finishing a day to change history - or at least the history books. Brynd had stationed two soldiers from the Night Guard outside Eir's and Rika's chambers, whilst he himself liaised with Chancellor Urtica, at that politician's request. The two men met in the War Chamber usually reserved for discussions on battle tactics, and perhaps this was the first indication to the commander that something was wrong.

Brynd opened the door to find Urtica standing at the far end of a massive stone table, his back to a spitting fire. No tapestries garlanded this room, only lanterns and examples of ancient weaponry on the walls. As he entered Brynd realized the conversation wouldn't be going his way.

'Commander, do step inside and close the door. Hell of a draught coming in.'

Brynd shut the door and approached, his steps clicking in the awkward silence. 'What's the problem, chancellor?'

'War, commander,' Chancellor Urtica sighed. 'I fear it's war.'

'And why so? I've been away for less than a month, so what can have arisen? Surely we should be looking for peace at all costs in these distressing times?'

'Of course, but our experts have now analysed the arrow that you retrieved from Daluk Point. It was indeed a Varltung shaft.'

'Really?' Brynd said, his eyes narrowing. 'But I still don't see why the Varltungs would make a raid on us.'

'Yes, well, these are strange days. Furthermore I've intelligence from our garudas suggesting that the Varltungs have planned more raids - now that our city is at its weakest. So I was forced to put some defensive plans in motion after you left. Troops are moving across the Empire as we speak.'

'What intelligence exactly?' Brynd said. Were the city's forces already marching to war without his knowledge?

'Not only from garudas, but rumours from various outposts. So I have initiated troop movements for a coastal raid on the Varltung nation. I'll be using cultists from the Order of Dawnir to help, too, as I want to stop any chance of our outlying islands being assaulted after our city closes its doors. It is a purely defensive tactic, and we aim to minimize casualties, and work
with
them once they submit.'

'And you're absolutely certain of this strategy? Surely, as commander of the armies, I should be allowed some say in this decision. Surely I should have some
role
in this?' It appeared that Urtica had already made up his mind even before Brynd had left to fetch Jamur Rika. Now it wouldn't surprise Brynd to learn that soldiers were already dying.

'That's certainly true, and I will need your agreement. The Council felt constrained to pass an urgent order of war in your absence. The Empress must be briefed immediately. More Dragoons and Regiments of Foot are currently being readied, but there's now another threat, for which I think your personal attention is more essential.'

Brynd analysed every word that Urtica uttered, scanning for the gaps in what he said to find the real story. Being chief commander of military operations appeared to mean little to these politicians, these articulate men who had no direct experience of combat. They just rolled the dice from a safe distance, not understanding the real costs in terms of resources and emotion.

Urtica said, 'You were aware of your next task, I think, even before you returned here. Those killings on our islands further north - on Tineag'l to be precise.'

'The mining island?'

'We've now had two reports of large-scale massacres there. Towns have been wiped out, and so far hundreds have died - possibly thousands. I sent a garuda to investigate and he hasn't returned yet - that was some time ago now.' Urtica reached across the table for a parchment, passed it to Brynd. 'This, however, came through to us.'

Brynd read the message.

Brynd glanced twice over the parchment, noticing it possessed the mark of Jorsalir, a discreet symbol of the moons in each corner, behind the star of the Empire. That meant it was official all right, blessed by the priest, but Brynd tended to ignore those kinds of blessings. He grunted.
So Fat Lutto actually does his job, for once.
He handed it back to Urtica. 'Yes, this is bad news all right. You wish me to assemble
what
exactly?'

'I think at least a few units of Dragoons, plus a cultist from the Order of the Dawnir should suffice. And the rest of your Night Guard, of course. But I'm not sure we can spare much more than that just yet if we're to organize a proper defence against the Varltung nation. Remember, they won their freedom six hundred years back, they've defeated the Empire's forces once. And they've enough population to furnish a few hundred thousand fighting men if they can unite all their tribes. I would like to make them . . .
submit
before the Freeze becomes too severe. So I'm leaving this matter in your capable hands.' Urtica was silent for a moment as he contemplated some of the maps lying in front of him.

'You don't think this is a more important issue than the Varltung operation?'

'You know very well what Lutto's like. He can be . . .
inaccurate
in what he says. He's fat, he's lazy, he's a gambler, and a criminal.'

'But he's in charge of an entire city and he's panicking,' Brynd said.

'In charge because he rigs the voting. Anyway, I think that given the information so far, the greatest issue lies on the eastern fronts. Should you need more men, you can send for reinforcements. Oh, incidentally, that Dawnir friend of yours has been grumbling about wanting to go with you.'

'Jurro?' Brynd said, puzzled. 'Why does he need to come anyway?'

'Why not take him with you? The activity might finally jog his blasted memory, and then we can get some useful information out of him. I mean what's the use of an Ancient if he doesn't have memory? I don't want him just rotting away reading books for another several generations and only have the benefit of his misery to put up with. Take him with you, let him see a bit more of the world. Before the ice sets in.'

Brynd considered just how exactly he could take one of the Ancient race on a scouting mission, travelling through towns where he'd undoubtedly be mobbed by villagers who would see him as some kind of oracle, some saviour to them in the ice age. That was the exact reason he'd been hidden for so long.

'What of the firegrain?' Brynd said. 'Have the remaining stocks of grain and oil been calculated?'

'Of course,' Urtica said. 'Anyway, there's wood remaining on Jokull, and plenty on the other islands. That's what the military will use for their warmth. That's what other cities are relying on. Emperor Johynn was just mad sending you out there in the first place. Now, shall we thrash out some details about the current crises facing the Empire? I believe our two fine minds should deliver some decent logistical analysis, what d'you say?'