The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (41 page)

‘OK, let’s head in and leave the hatch open.’

They both descended into Malum’s building, Lan more fluidly than Fulcrom, and they left the hatch half open so that they could see what they were doing. They found themselves in an attic
space, with old fishing crates, nets, buoys and paintings all gathering dust. Some of the floorboards seemed rotten, and Fulcrom cautiously tested them with his foot before applying his weight.

‘So where next?’ Lan whispered.

‘We listen and we wait.’

They nestled themselves in one corner and, from their position sitting on the floor, Fulcrom spotted a door. He gestured to it and, in hushed tones, said, ‘We can head through that if we
want to hear more, but for now I suggest we just hang about for a while to see who’s around and find out what their plans are. Without the backing of a great force all we can do is spy on
them and work out what they’re up to.’

‘Fun,’ Lan whispered sarcastically.

‘Hey, this is the dull side of working in the Inquisition – a lot of waiting around to see if something happens. It isn’t that glamorous.’

‘I’d better get used to it then,’ Lan replied, reclining with a sigh.

*

A door slammed somewhere down below.

Lan and Fulcrom snapped to attention, Fulcrom’s heart beating quickly now. Voices drifted up from below, commanding tones, precise instructions.

‘It’s him,’ Fulcrom whispered. ‘It must be.’

‘How long have we been here now?’

‘No idea.’ Fulcrom stood up, brushed himself down and looked up at the hatch. The sun had moved significantly since they had entered the building. ‘I reckon at least three
hours.’

‘You were right, this is dull work.’ Lan joined him as they moved towards the door.

Fulcrom pressed his ear against the wood.

Malum . . . we’ve got most . . . east city.

Killed ten soldiers already, bodies dumped in the harbour.

When shall we start?

More time. More numbers? We’ve thousands right?

Military . . . unguarded.

Empress? Haven’t seen her for weeks.

Fulcrom peeled back a minute later, when the people who had entered the building began laughing about something else.

‘Well?’ Lan asked. ‘I say we head down there and get them now.’

‘We don’t know how many are down there and how well armed they are. We’re not an army.’

‘So what? We can take them, surely. I’ve got my powers.’

Someone shouted from underneath.

Fulcrom watched in horror as Lan, almost bouncing on the spot to ready herself, suddenly put her foot through a floorboard: as she tried to rebalance herself, she engaged her powers, which
worked against her. She flipped her head back and smacked it on a timber support with the full force of her enhancements.

It happened so quickly.

‘Fuck.’ Fulcrom dashed to her side and was relieved to see that she was still breathing, although she had cut open her head on the sharp edge of the pillar.

Footsteps on the stairway.

Fulcrom glanced to the door and back to Lan. He tried to lift her up, to see if she was still alert, to see if she could tune in to her powers.

Footsteps were now outside the door. There was a silent pause then the door was kicked open. Four men each carrying a blade ran forward into the room – and there were another two coming
up, all of them tough-looking types that looked as if they knew their way around a fight.

Fulcrom held up his hands as if to say something but a punch came to his face and the next thing he knew he was pressed against the floorboards.

‘What the fuck should we do with ’em?’ someone said.

‘Tie them up. Take the buggers down to Malum. He can decide.’

Still dazed, Fulcrom felt the ropes binding around his wrists and twisted his head so that he could see Lan. She, too, was being bound. Together they were dragged downstairs by their feet, each
step digging into his back. The two of them were shoved into a brighter, cleaner room that was sparsely decorated. There was a window overlooking the street, a few tables, a row of swords and a few
bottles on the floor.

Fulcrom breathed mindfully, trying to force away the pain.
Stay
alert, stay smart
. . .

‘So,’ came a strong, bass voice, ‘we have guests. Two more for the takeover, do you think?’

There were a few chuckles from the others, as Fulcrom and Lan were levered upright and pushed against a wall. Fulcrom looked over to Lan to make sure she was OK, but she was still dazed.

His vision settled on one man sitting back with his feet up on a large table. It was Malum. There was a blade resting by his boots. He picked up the blade and pointed it at Fulcrom. ‘You.
What the fuck were you doing up there?’

‘We’re homeless lovers, sir. Looking for shelter. Times are tough in the city and we’ve fallen on hard times. Have a heart.’

‘Bollocks are you homeless,’ the man replied. ‘That medallion around your neck is worth a month’s rent for a start. Speaking of which, it’s one I haven’t seen
in a while. Inquisition, right?’

‘I stole it.’

‘Give up, clown, it’s obvious who you are. The Inquisition is usually in the pocket of the gangs, or it was before the war, anyway, so I’m guessing you’re new stock, that
right? Working for the albino?’

Fulcrom nodded.

‘Hear that, lads? This is the albino’s last line of defence.’ They all laughed.

‘So what were you doing up in the attic . . .’ Malum mused. ‘Hoping to listen in to my progress to report back to the albino, right?’

Fulcrom simply gave a sigh in reply.

‘Well then. You know the albino isn’t around now, right?’ Malum stepped back to get a better look at his two captives.

‘He’s at war, trying to save people’s lives,’ Fulcrom replied defiantly.

‘I was thinking of leaving your heads for him as a welcome-back present.’ At that point, Fulcrom realized he would probably die, and he greeted the thought with utter calm and logic.
‘I had hoped for a more adventurous, braver end to things.’

‘Ain’t that always the way,’ Malum muttered. ‘No triumphant ending for you two.’

‘You know, I meant what I said when I said we were lovers,’ Fulcrom muttered.

‘What, you and the commander? I can believe that – isn’t that right, lads? Queer fuckers.’

‘No,’ Fulcrom cautioned. ‘Me and my companion. We’re lovers. That much is true. If you’re going to kill us, I just ask that you don’t burn our
bodies.’

‘You think I’ve got the time for that anyway? You’ll end up in the harbour like everyone else.’

That was a relief, at least. Right now, Fulcrom had to put as much faith in what he thought would happen next as he could manage. He tried to recall all that he knew of these matters.
‘Thank you,’ he breathed.

‘What the fuck for? Killing you?’

‘Please, a stab to the heart would be wonderful for the both of us.’

‘You’ve balls, I’ll give you that, inquisitor,’ Malum grunted. ‘See that?’ He announced to the rest of the room. ‘The man faces death honourably. No
quivering, no pissing himself like some of the shit-bags you see around this city. Look upon this execution as a lesson in how to go if you ever get to this stage.’ Malum reached for his
sword and ordered someone else to stand over Lan, a much younger man – almost a boy. Both of them pressed the tips of their blades above the respective hearts.

‘He needs to move down a couple of inches,’ Fulcrom muttered.

‘What?’

‘Your young colleague’s blade is too high to penetrate her heart properly. I’m guessing this is his first time.’

‘Oh, right, good spot,’ Malum agreed, and gave appropriate instructions to the nervous-looking lad before turning his attention to Fulcrom once again. ‘You got guts, rumel. You
could have a place in my operation; we could do with a man like you.’

Fulcrom shook his head. ‘I serve only the law.’

‘Principles, too,’ Malum laughed. ‘What a waste.’

Don’t look at Lan now
, Fulcrom told himself.
Whatever you do, don’t look at Lan and remember you’ve tried your best . . .

The last thing Fulcrom noticed was Malum’s grinning face as he pressed the blade firmly into Fulcrom’s heart, instant pain, the daylight fading from sight, then a lightness . . .
utter freedom.

A release.

Standing around the cauldron, they watched the battle unfold slowly. Brynd conferred with the Night Guard soldiers, who seemed embittered by their sudden distance – and
who could blame them? They were the best of the best, and now here they were, simply watching from the sidelines, humbled by a sophisticated technology. They all knew it wasn’t right.

‘We’ll get down there,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll all have our chance.’

When the engagement commenced, the members of the Night Guard soon forgot their bitterness.

They gawked in amazement, watching from afar as the invasion fleet approached the coast of Folke. Channelling a viewpoint directly above the thick of the action, they stared as thousands and
thousands of vessels ploughed straight into the shallow waters, running aground as predicted. Massive doors collapsed into the tumultuous surf, and out spilled thousands more Okun, soon pooling
thickly, turning the shallows black.

There to meet them were monstrous creatures, ploughing down the beach or rocky shores in vast swarms that backed up deep onto the land and out of sight. The numbers were so astonishing that the
entire scene seemed fabricated, as if it was not happening, and for a moment Brynd contemplated asking to see what was going on from the landing platforms. But, as he recognized many of the
landmarks along the coast, he realized this was quite real. This horror was most definitely unfolding on the ground.

For the better part of half an hour, the tide of the battle ebbed and flowed, and it was difficult to ascertain what progress if any was being made by either side.

Brynd glanced at the elders, and at Artemisia standing alongside them, and they were all conferring, gesturing to the maps on the table. Now and then she would stand alongside Brynd to ask his
thoughts on troop movements, but it was always in relation to the topography or the weather, as if seeking his confirmation rather than making the decisions with him.

‘Do you feel aggrieved she doesn’t consult you much?’ Brug muttered grimly, as if egging him on for a scrap.

‘I don’t mind that so much. These are her people, after all. Her soldiers.’

‘Her
corpses
, at any rate,’ Brug replied. ‘Fuck knows how many have died in this first wave. At least they’re getting a chance at glory.’

They both glanced down again, watching the scene remain almost exactly as it had been minutes ago. Line after line of creatures, each rank stretching for miles it seemed, piled in to prevent the
Okun from breaching the shoreline and up onto the grassland beyond, but even there, waiting for them, would be more creatures.

Whether it was because of his remoteness from the scene, or perhaps because these were not his people – they were not of his world – Brynd couldn’t help but think of the
clean-up operation, removing this many bodies. There were already thousands, and the conflict had not yet lasted for more than an hour.

‘Commander, take a look at this,’ one of his men urged.

Brynd faced the cauldron again. This time, something was flying over – a dragon perhaps? – dropping what appeared to be a liquid over the Okun. A moment later there was a flash. Fire
exploded out in dozens of tiny plumes at first and then it became more intense, occupying more of the cauldron’s image, more of the scene on the shore – an inferno – while the
flying creature moved further up the coast continuing to release fire.

‘I’d be surprised if anything survives that,’ Brynd said.

‘It’s annoying we can’t see the full scene,’ Sergeant Tiendi added.

‘This is frustrating, commander. When can we get down there to help out?’

‘You think we can help much here? Artemisia’s right, even though it pains me to say it. We’ll engage in our operation soon enough.’

*

Indeed, the time did arrive for them to begin their operation. After what Brynd estimated to be another hour watching the repetitive carnage, Artemisia invited them around the
table with the elders so that they might discuss the final moves. On the table lay maps and technical drawings, some on vellum, some on a slate-like material. Artemisia showed how they delineated
the internal structure of the enemy’s sky-city. It seemed vast, a place of habitation much like the one in which they currently stood, as well as housing many separate units, limbs of
civilizations ready to detach and drop to the ground. Its purpose was to transport a population through another world, driven by arcane powers that would – she claimed – take too long
to explain.

As a result, there were several central structures of importance. These not only housed the population’s noble blood and ruling individuals but also their sophisticated communications, as
well as encasing the ‘drive’ that kept the city floating in the sky.

‘That means the most essential targets are clustered together,’ Brynd observed.

‘The dangers,’ Artemisia suggested, ‘of centralized power.’

She pointed out the main access routes – inevitably the hardest part was getting inside, but once they were there, it was much like any other city, with roads and pathways, bridges and so
on.

‘And Frater Mercury?’ Brynd enquired. ‘If he is to become our very own weapon, before he self-destructs, we presumably need to get him as close as possible to the central
districts?’

‘It is indeed the case. Your wasps,’ Artemisia continued, ‘will certainly help. I did suspect we would have to travel on foot, in the shadows, which would have been a painfully
slow option. Now if we can gain speed . . . Will there be room for me? No. Perhaps I need to see what fliers we can spare to go with us. Frater Mercury will need transporting.’

‘He can ride with me,’ Brynd said, ‘or failing that, I’m almost certain the wasps can carry small loads underneath them.’