The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (6 page)

Fulcrom continued to ride for several minutes down the line and past each of the absurdly large horses, waving his banner at each one, giving the signal, watching to make sure they stopped
– before continuing on to the next. When all of the vehicles had stopped, he rode back up the line with his hand in the air and his fingers and thumb extended: five hours, this signalled.
They would stop for five hours.

They did not pause their journey often – because of the hassle and the threat of the invaders. With the slowly advancing city now a distant glow in the evening sky, Fulcrom gave the order
for people to rest and set up camp alongside the vehicles. Each night he would keep his gaze fixed on the horizon, to check the sky-city wasn’t an immediate danger.

Fires were lit. Crude tents were erected. Food rations were cooked and issued. Any health problems were dealt with and, now that a team with some medical knowledge had been found, Fulcrom could
prioritize between the most needy and those who could wait a little longer.

Fulcrom had been heartened to see some of the tribespeople of Jokull, who had spent most of their existence living in fear of the Empire and its people, come forward to offer their help. They
brought hundreds of animal skins for warmth and carcasses for food. It was a gesture that humbled him; he had nothing to offer in return, but it did not seem to matter. The nomads simply handed
over the gifts and disappeared back into the twilight.

*

People milled around under the darkening skies and each face that caught the fire looked set in a glum expression.

Still, at least the shock has gone
. Initially many people had been shivering and wailing manically or simply refused to talk. But that stage had now, mostly, subsided into the grim
realization of what was going on. This was now life. They had to get used to it or die.

In the brief respite from the monotony of travelling, Fulcrom chatted with the few soldiers who had made it from Villjamur, as well as some of the more active political types who had put aside
differences to help out.

In a way
, Fulcrom thought dryly,
the anarchists had actually got what they wanted
.

Villjamur was no more. The Emperor was dead. The Council was not so much dissolved as destroyed. This entire convoy, in fact, was comprised of self-organized cells, with power distributed
evenly. Indeed, this was what the anarchists had wanted, but not the level of destruction. Perhaps because of this, or perhaps the sheer acknowledgement that everyone had to stick together, there
were few of the same problems of inequality and exploitation that there had been in Villjamur.

And Fulcrom’s memories of the city were tainted. He could not forget his own grim experiences towards the end of its existence: being thrown in a cell, his tail being cut off, all because
of the Emperor’s wrath.

Eventually he settled with some senior officers around a campfire, along with Lan and, finally, Tane. The catman liked to keep aloof in these moments of rest – mainly because he was wary
of his appearance, uncertain of what others would think of him. Tane and Lan no longer had the benefit of their clifftop retreat, no longer had the sanctuary of anonymity. They had to be here, with
people, and that meant they had to confront people’s fear of those who were different.

‘Tane,’ Fulcrom called out. ‘Where were you today?’

‘At the rear, for the most part,’ he replied coolly.

‘Was there a skirmish?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘No,’ Tane said, flexing his arm muscle as if it ached. ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle, that is. But people are rather unprotected at the back of this convoy.’
Tane’s voice became louder, less feminine. ‘All the soldiers are hiding at the front, as far away from the sky-city as possible.’

Two soldiers turned, big guys with a few days of stubble and wearing the colour of the City Guard. ‘What the hell is he saying?’ one of them muttered.

‘I said,’ Tane continued, ‘that you’re too fucking scared to stay at the back protecting the vulnerable people – that’s where people are being picked off
– not in big group attacks, but by curious hunting pairs.’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Fulcrom said. Then, to the soldiers, ‘I’m sorry. Please, just ignore him.’

‘Ignore me?’ Tane spluttered. ‘These bloody idiots don’t know the meaning of a day’s work.’

The two soldiers lumbered past Fulcrom, almost knocking him to the floor, and trudged through the mud towards Tane.

Fulcrom staggered upright to see Tane’s claws now extended. He was standing now with his legs wide, his arms open, taunting them. ‘Come on then, chaps. Come
the fuck
on . .
.’

Suddenly something blurred by and Tane was dragged away. Lan had pulled him back into the darkness with a flurry of movement, while Fulcrom ran back to stop the soldiers.

He caught up with them and palmed the air. ‘Please, gentlemen, we shouldn’t be fighting each other. Tane is raw – he’s recently lost a friend, a close colleague. These
are difficult times for all of us.’

‘We’ve all lost friends,’ one soldier grunted. ‘We’ve lost friends, family, houses, everything we’ve ever bloody well worked for. You think we don’t
feel any pain about this?’

Tane took deep breaths and bowed his head. Lan soothed what, to Fulcrom, seemed an unlikely outburst from Tane. If any of the former heroes of Villjamur were known to have troubles with their
temper, it was Vuldon. Vuldon who had been killed trying to save lives as the city crumbled.

Whether or not Tane felt guilt for
not
being there, Fulcrom couldn’t work out. What was clear was that, for better or worse, Tane was quieter now. There were few opportunities for
his jokes, fewer venues in which to present himself as the evening’s entertainment, the centre of attention, no more parties. Everyone’s lives had been irreversibly changed.

‘Guys, why not head back to the campfire,’ Fulcrom said. ‘There’s a little warmth there, a little meat that the tribes have brought us.’

‘Aye,’ they both said wearily, and turned to head towards the flames. People were staring at them, waiting to see what might happen next, but eventually they, too, moved on.

Fulcrom stepped across to Tane and Lan.

‘Tane,’ he said, ‘I know I’m not in command of you, but for whatever Bohr-forsaken reason, I seem to be influencing a lot of what goes on around here. There are people
much, much weaker than you, who need some inspiration, something to look up to, and something to comfort them, to assure them that they’re safe, that they might live if they carry on this
journey. Whenever you slip up like that, it makes everyone’s lives a fraction harder. It makes all our work more difficult. Do you understand that?’

Tane lifted his head with as much pride as he could muster. There were retorts in his expression, Fulcrom could see that; witty one-liners or just a dismissive remark; nothing came from his
lips, no apology, but that silence was all Fulcrom really needed.

Fulcrom placed a hand on Tane’s arm and looked him right in the eye. The feline pupils were wide, his furred face rippled ever so slightly in the breeze. Tane’s hair had grown a lot
since Fulcrom first saw his transition under the cultist treatments, but there still remained an air of dignity and respect. Even now, after his performance with the soldiers.

‘What’s wrong?’ Fulcrom said softly.

‘It just seems all rather futile, don’t you think?’ Tane replied, his voice returning to that familiar, refined tone. ‘Just a few days ago there were some plans and
probabilities to help shape our day. A degree of comfort could be found in that. What now, eh?’

‘We press on,’ Fulcrom said. ‘We get our rest, we gather more people, we protect them against any attacks, and we move forward. We don’t look back. We don’t think
about the worst, though we plan for it.’

The wind picked up, groaning in the distance. The sky was now indigo, the flames of campfires littered the foreground, and the smell of cooking meat lingered in the air. He could see families
nearby had daggers or short swords out on top of blankets, just in case something bad was to happen.

Fulcrom, even with his tough, rumel skin, began to shiver. Lan put her arm around his waist, resting her head on his chest, and Fulcrom wondered just how well he would be coping if she was not
there to soothe his worries.

*

Screams woke him.

He bolted upright, the blankets sliding off him. Lan was already awake, rolling the sheet back, letting in the noise from the clearing: to one side, the land-vehicles were lined up behind each
other; to the other, people were beginning to surge forwards.

Fulcrom stumbled up, brushing his clothes. He wrapped up the blankets and bundled them into a small bag, which he slung across his back, then picked up his crossbow, bolts, and a blade.

‘What’s going on?’ he called out, though no soldiers were nearby.

Lan and Fulcrom watched in confusion – it was still dark, and campfires had become smouldering ash piles. One of the moons was overhead, its faint glow cast down upon the scene. There must
have been a hundred people moving to scramble to the other side of the land-vehicles. A few soldiers on horseback rode back the other way with their weapons at the ready.

‘Can you see Tane?’ Lan asked.

‘No,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘Are they coming for us? I can’t see anything.’

Lan craned her neck to look up. ‘Not from the air at least. I’m going to see what’s going on.’ With that, she bounded up towards one of the land-vehicles, used one of its
wheels for leverage and took huge arcs through the air and out of sight.

If only I had such powers
, Fulcrom thought, as he trudged over the ice-cold mud. His pulse racing, he headed towards a family pulling their small handcart hastily through the
clearing.

‘What’s going on?’ Fulcrom asked.

The father, a slender, bearded man in a baggy jumper, stopped and urged his family to go on. ‘I’ll catch up.’ Then, to Fulcrom, ‘There’s word of things coming out
of the far end of the forest, sir.’

‘Things?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘What
things
?’

The man shrugged. His eyes looked tired. ‘I’ve only heard word, like. I don’t know really. We’re just getting the hell out of here before the sun rises.’

‘Can you give me any description?’ Fulcrom asked, wanting to shake the man. ‘I need something to go on, anything.’

‘Word . . . word is that ghosts have started attacking, that’s all, sir, I swear.’ The man looked this way and that, then back to his family.

‘Thank you,’ Fulcrom sighed, gesturing for him to return.

People swarmed past now, and Fulcrom began hassling others at random to ask them what they had seen. Again, only the suggestion of ghosts. Spectres. Glowing things. Only hearsay, nothing
definite, which frustrated him.

Fulcrom jogged towards the head of the convoy, away from the noises, where dozens of soldiers had now stationed themselves, but had not yet moved into action – instead they were slouching
by one of the fires. Further up, standing alongside the front leg of the furthest horse, Frater Mercury stared out into the darkness.

The soldiers stood to regard Fulcrom.

What the fuck are they doing just lying around?
he thought to himself. ‘Evening,’ Fulcrom announced, ‘we’ve reports of events at the western end of the convoy.
People are looking for help.’

‘We don’t know what to do,’ one of the younger men said. ‘We’re waiting for orders.’

‘You pick up your swords and bows and you help them,’ Fulcrom urged.

Two looked at each other, another one – older – seemed to get the idea. ‘Gather all those wearing Empire colours like before.’

Fulcrom nodded. ‘Good, and hurry. I’ve heard odd reports of spectres – which sounds different from what we’ve dealt with before.’

The soldiers split up – some went to locate their horses, others moved on foot. Ahead of the convoy lay the limits of the woodland and, beyond, the vast expanse of grassland and tundra,
much of it buried underneath snow. There were no lights of towns or villages, only darkness.

Fulcrom headed up towards Frater Mercury, moving around the legs of the gargantuan horse, which seemed to remain so still it was statue-like.

When Frater Mercury spoke it was directly into Fulcrom’s head.
What do you want now?

‘The rear of our convoy is under attack, I believe. People are saying that there are ghost-like killers – spectral forms.’

Frater Mercury contemplated his words without expression.

‘Did you hear my words?’ Fulcrom asked.

Of course. It takes me time to remember the language
.

‘Are they from the Policharos?’ Fulcrom asked, using Frater Mercury’s original term for the sky-city.

Yes
, he replied.
I know what they are.

‘Are they a threat?’

Yes they are.

‘Then would you be able to help?’

It seemed to take the greatest effort for this man – this god, perhaps – to oblige Fulcrom’s request. Why was there no sense of urgency?

I will follow you, if I must.

*

They located two black mares and rode off to the western end of the convoy. Fulcrom was impressed by Frater Mercury’s finesse at riding, the ease with which he moved in
the saddle and directed the animal.

People seemed to be moving more quickly, the further west they rode, and there were more panicked expressions upon people’s faces.

Fulcrom tried to peer further ahead but the forest was too thick to make anything out. His frustration grew. Fulcrom began to worry that leading the refugees through a vast clearing in the
forest had been a mistake. He had hoped it would provide cover from two sides, wood for campfires and potential food. He forced his guilt from his mind: he could not possibly know what he was
dealing with.

Panicked faces became more distressed; there were piercing screams in the distance, then – through the darkness – Fulcrom could discern glowing forms.

‘Oh fuck, no . . .’ he breathed. ‘What now?’

They had reached the fringe of the convoy. Jamur soldiers, perhaps a hundred in all, as well as citizen militia who had picked up arms, had formed a line of defence stretching perhaps a hundred
feet from one side of the clearing to the other. Along the fringes of the trees, archers were firing into the open.