Nights of Villjamur

THIRTY-EIGHT

Longships banked towards the east, cautiously navigating the complex and treacherous sheets of ice north-west of Villiren. Brynd looked out across the water, checking to see where the wind blew strongest past the jagged outline of the coast, the ice, the limestone cliffs. As soon as they were through the darker waters, the ship’s sails snagged tight as skin, and the vessel suddenly lurched under gathering momentum. But the crew of the ship had also anticipated this, adjusting her sail accordingly. There had obviously been ice breakers out earlier along the length of this coast.

Then it presented itself, Villiren, one of the largest cities in the Boreal Archipelago, one of the most lawless places in the Empire. The city’s harbour was perched between two wide cliff faces crawling with birds and pterodettes. A few renegade garudas were about, shadow communities of them living deep in the cave systems.

Villiren was the commercial hub of the Empire, strategically located between several mining islands like Tineag’l, where ore was auctioned and taxed and distributed. Traders of Villiren had made a fortune providing the Imperial armies. The people of Villiren had been ‘rewarded’ with democracy, even though they voted for someone who served the Council directly – not Brynd’s idea of what democracy was. The city had expanded rapidly in recent years under the new portreeve, and this was often at the expense of labour rights. Many of the poor had been cleared from their homes in the face of Imperial progress, and were left with no choice but to work in mining communities further north.

An immense citadel loomed over the harbour. Turrets dominated every angle of the walls, and aside from the immense archways made from bone and the Ancient Quarter, the structures tended to be flat and featureless, a drab and endless latticework of streets, not at all like the grandeur of Villjamur.

As their longship navigated through the ice-plates, Brynd noted an alarming number of small vessels close to the harbour walls.

Apium joined him up on deck. ‘Well, here I am, back at this shithole. Still, maybe a fat purse will compensate me for the lonely nights ahead.’

‘Anyway look at that-’

Brynd interrupted his reminiscences, gesturing towards the hundreds of boats packed into the harbour, many left untied as if their owners didn’t care about them any longer.

Apium came and put his gut on the side. ‘What d’you suppose has caused that?’

‘Either escaping the Freeze,’ Brynd frowned, ‘or something to do with the killings on Tineag’l.’

It could’ve been merely smoke from the fire with some spices sprinkled on it for extra aroma, but Brynd just knew that wasn’t likely. This was the chamber of Fat Lutto, Portreeve of Villiren, after all. The haze was intense, making him feel drowsy. Brynd couldn’t put a name to the drug he smelled, but it was close enough to arum weed. Probably some new variety that Lutto had nurtured for a little extra kick.

Bizarre sounds came from the middle of the chamber, which was decorated richly with purple cushions and silk hangings.

Brynd approached the source of the commotion, shouting, ‘Lutto, is that you?’

‘What? Who? Who goes there?’ A mound of flesh pushed itself up from the tangle of bodies, grasped for a sword lying by the cushions. ‘I’ll have you, getting in here like that! I am well connected with gangs!’

‘Portreeve Lutto, it’s Commander Lathraea.’

A perspiring brown face leered through the smoke, a wedge of a moustache dominating it. Two bright blue eyes fixed themselves upon Brynd, before widening in recognition. ‘Commander Brynd! What a pleasure! Just give me a second.’ He abruptly dismissed the three naked rumel girls, a brown-, a black- and a grey-skin. They threw on their robes, and scampered out of a door to one side. The gust of air let in began to clear some of the smoke.

‘That’s better.’ Fat Lutto waddled towards Brynd with all the grace of an old lady wading though shallow water with her skirts hitched up. He now wore a silver silk robe that billowed around him like a tent. ‘And how’s my favourite soldier these days? You bless Lutto with your presence with no warning. How kind. Or perhaps he comes to save Villiren in her time of need!’

‘Rumel girls?’ Brynd asked.

‘Indeed!’ Fat Lutto smiled, clasping his hands together. ‘Tough skins, you see, and there’s little chance of little Luttos coming forth.’ He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. ‘Has my favourite warrior come to help us in these troubled times?’

‘Everyone seems to be talking about troubled times,’ Brynd observed. ‘Yes, we’re here to investigate the incidents on Tineag’l. And at your request, I believe.’

‘At last! This humble city can’t put up with all these exiles for much longer. No, sir.’

‘Exiles?’ Brynd said. ‘Why didn’t you mention that in the message you sent to Villjamur?’

‘Um… I hadn’t enough details.’ He held his arms out wide in despair. ‘There were too few details then, but now I’m burdened with too many!’

Brynd said, ‘I hope you haven’t been neglecting your duties?’

‘Would Lutto consider such a thing at the Empire’s expense? I am, after all, her most loyal servant.’

It was almost as if Fat Lutto was trying to convince himself that he was honourable. ‘What more can you tell me of the situation?’

Fat Lutto gestured for Brynd to sit on some cushions, then began to describe at length what had happened over the past few months.

At the start they had come in ones and twos, the refugees, in small and optimistic groups. Some came for the opportunities Villiren presented with the Freeze clamping down on their livelihoods in the wilds. But then people started to arrive in volume, families crammed on hazardous vessels, not a few of them drowning in the ice-cold waters.

Their stories were all the same.

The Claws, or the Shells. That was what the invading race had been labelled by locals. Either way, the news was the same: entire families, then hamlets, then towns, and more, wiped out in the course of just a night. Large numbers of people had gone missing. Some were killed, with their skins ripped off. It seemed only the young and old were spared capture, but ended up dead. The invaders were hideous to observe: walking crustaceans that showed no regard for life. And no one knew where they had come from.

Brynd listened to these stories in silence, vaguely aware of the irony that many tribesmen had once spread similar tales of the invading Imperial forces through the ages.

But this was a crisis far worse than he could have imagined. This threatened not just the Empire, but all human and rumel life indiscriminately.

‘All you’re telling me,’ Brynd said finally, ‘this is absolute truth. None of it’s your usual exaggerations?’

‘Exaggerations?’ Fat Lutto affected to look mortified.

‘Well, there’s the time you spread gossip that some of the Kyálku had sailed across from Varltung to merge with the Froutan and provoke a rebellion on the Empire’s shores – all so that you could charge protection money throughout Villiren and Y’iren? Remember that?’

‘Such accusations! Lutto is hurt!’

‘So why didn’t you send any further messages?’

‘To be honest, no messengers dared leave the city.’ Lutto placed a fat hand on Brynd’s shoulder. ‘You may think it isn’t often I show anxiety, but I have never seen such a crisis. We’ve already accepted a few hundred into our city, but more are waiting on Tineag’l, trying to make their way across the ice sheets. More will die.

‘And within months the ice sheets will be too much to disperse. A path will be formed directly between Tineag’l and Y’iren. Leading right to this city. What then?’

Brynd said, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t made a run for it already.’

‘You joke, of course, Commander Brynd! But, there is safety in these walls. This is a fortress city, after all, with many skilled fighters.’

‘I want you to tell me every possible thing you can about the position of these refugees on Tineag’l, which of their settlements have been attacked and where they intend to sail from. Can you manage that?’

Fat Lutto nodded, his chins wobbling. ‘To save our city, I’ll do anything.’

Brynd ensured that his military were properly housed for the night at one of the empty garrisons at the northern periphery of the city, overlooking the crowded harbour. They were to be kept off the city streets, as Brynd knew only too well what kind of trouble they might get into.

The Dawnir, Jurro, was provided with a chamber all to himself, seeming happy enough to spend his evening alone with his books. The last thing Brynd wanted was a panicking city assuming a saviour of sorts had come to the rescue.

Hopefully the operation would be straightforward enough, though Brynd wasn’t certain as to the enemy’s capabilities. The next morning he ordered that all the empty boats abandoned in the harbour should be reclaimed, tied together, and then be towed by several Jamur longships to the southern shores of Tineag’l in preparation for evacuation.

As he lay awake that night on a makeshift bed in the garrison dormitory, even through the thick walls and above the snoring alongside him he could hear the faint sounds of laughter and debauchery from the city beyond. It made him wonder how life could go on in this way with a crisis looming that could soon be tearing the population’s lives apart. How much did they know of this threat?

Unable to sleep, he finally pushed his sheets aside, dressed himself in his uniform, went outside to stand on the long balcony overlooking the harbour. It was ice cold, and what clouds had followed them during the day now moved southwest. Stars were reflected in the water, the harbour stretching down in a sweeping arc from left to right and, from where he stood, he could see the lights of coloured lanterns burning all around the city. Stray dogs and massive trilobites shuffled between upturned crates on the stone docks below while people walked home in twos and threes through grubby alleyways behind flat-topped buildings.

Brynd wanted to think about almost anything just to take his mind off tomorrow’s operation. He thought of Kym; one particular night the two of them fucked on a balcony, the risk of getting caught seeming a thrill at the time – merely a warming feeling now.

Such absent-minded retrospection delayed his observation of two figures standing in the umbra further along the balcony. It was Apium, and the cultist Blavat.

As he approached them, Apium enquired, ‘You couldn’t sleep either?’

‘No,’ Brynd replied. ‘When there’s a big day ahead, I never can sleep easy.’

‘Been far too long since we’ve had a proper big day,’ Apium grumbled. ‘If it wasn’t for that business at Dalúk Point I would’ve totally forgotten how to fight by now.’

‘Unlike you to be so glum,’ Brynd observed.

The stocky soldier merely shrugged.

The cultist turned to face him, her aged skin somehow timeless in the starlight. ‘You want me to light a fire to get you warm?’

‘Please,’ Brynd said, gratefully.

She reached into her pocket, twisted something. A purple light started from nothing, and she set it down on the edge of the balcony until it soon transformed into a welcome glow.

‘Handy, that,’ Apium commented in admiration.

The three of them stared out northwards, towards Tineag’l. Brynd couldn’t imagine what state the refugees would now be in. It could take days to reach them, and you had to factor in how far the ice sheets had descended, and how much distance they would have to travel on horseback.

‘I won’t necessarily be able to get you out of any difficult situation,’ Blavat said dully, now gazing into the fire. ‘Don’t start thinking we cultists are the stuff of epic poems. We’re ordinary people, just like you.’

‘So who did you piss off back home?’ Apium enquired. ‘Since you’re the lucky sod who’s forced to come out all this way north with the army, instead of keeping your arse safe and warm in Villjamur.’

‘There’s a certain amount of loyalty owed to the order, but Papus is a bit too fond of being in authority. She doesn’t like her position challenged and apparently I became a bit too popular with the rest of my order. Times are uncertain, and she wanted to make it very clear who is in charge, especially right now.’

‘Especially now?’ Brynd queried, surprised at the intensity of her tone.

‘Yes, it’s all to do with Dartun Súr of the Order of the Equinox. Papus hates him, even holds him responsible for the draugr. I don’t know if it’s just a personal vendetta, or whether she truly holds the moral high ground. Don’t be surprised, if when we get back to Villjamur, you find all cultists are at war with each other. And I was hoping to spend my time quietly on Ysla during the Freeze.’

‘So this Ysla place,’ Apium said, ‘what’s it really like?’

‘It is an incredible place, you’ve no idea how much so. There are problems, just like any place, but there is a governing board of cultists from every order who make sure everything runs smoothly. It will be significantly warmer there than elsewhere in the Archipelago, so I doubt the ice will cause too much of a problem.’

Brynd interrupted, ‘I believe you can control the weather there, so why can’t you do that for the rest of the Empire?’

‘A couple of members of the Order of Natura can alter cloud patterns in order to keep the sunlight on us – also drive snowstorms away – but not for long periods of time. It’s a difficult science, and though there is a heritage from the times in our history when the sun shone brighter, we only comprehend a fraction of it all.’

For a moment no one said anything, merely studied the city before them. The stars had become increasingly obscured, a bank of cloud rolling in from the north, which made Brynd wonder how long it would be till it started to snow. It didn’t surprise him, therefore, when it began, gently at first, and then grew into something more acute.

‘Tomorrow’s military operation,’ Blavat said. ‘How confident are you?’

‘Honestly? I don’t know,’ Brynd admitted. ‘We face an utterly unknown enemy. We have no surveillance information to hand. As far as getting the refugees back to safety, it depends what state they’re in. We can only do our best.’

‘Where do you see my powers fitting in?’ Blavat enquired.

‘Any medical relics you can apply to the refugees, and, of course, enhancement of our weapons.’

‘You’ll need explosives?’ she suggested.

‘Yes, indeed,’ Brynd said. ‘If you could prime some for us to deploy across the ice sheets, that might be useful in cutting us off – from whatever those refugees have coming after them.’

After that the three of them watched the falling snow in companionable silence. Street fires and lantern lights glared defiantly for another bell, but one by one they fell into shadow. Voices in the streets beyond quietened and soon there was only the sound of the wind probing the city’s countless alleyways.