The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (12 page)

‘So tell me the details of what you’ve achieved here,’ Brynd suggested. ‘I want to know what makes your work so special.’

Jeza told him, in approximate terms. Cultists were vague and spoke in heavy jargon, but she explained things in a very simple way. Lim could conduct rituals with relics – remnants of old
technology as well as gemstones and tribal accoutrements he had brought with him from Varltung. There were tribes who worshipped such things in distant, remote valleys of that island. And sources
of energy were provided to reinvigorate dead ‘cells’ – or make body parts quite literally spark into life. Jeza called it palaeomancy. The others chimed in with colour and
examples to clarify this life science. Brynd concluded he would never fully understand the ways of a cultist.

‘Tell me in plain terms: what can you offer the army?’ Brynd asked.

‘As I indicated in my letter we’re developing things you might be able to use on the battlefield – though these are currently still in development.’

‘I still need to
see
something.’

Jeza nodded and sauntered off into a dark corner of the room, where she rummaged around on a shelving unit. She returned a moment later clutching a small black item, and handed it over to Brynd,
who examined it.

It was the size of a plate, half an inch thick, smooth on one side, and slightly curved. He attempted to bend it, but couldn’t, then tried a little harder – but still did not move it
out of shape. ‘What am I looking at here?’ he asked.

‘This is the material we’ve made. It’s strong and durable, and a fraction of the weight of metal, but not at all finished. We can make armour from this material. And
we’re nearly there.’

*

A couple of them headed outside to get some more cheap wine they’d been storing in the ice. The rest of the group sat around with Brynd on upturned crates, sipping wine
from wooden cups. They offered him one of their many hammocks, but he politely declined.

‘You weren’t involved in the war,’ Brynd said, ‘so what made you contact the authorities now?’

‘Word was that you were looking for new forces,’ Diggsy said. ‘We saw them posters you put up all over the place. I reckon we’re in a position to supply you with some of
those
forces
, depending on what you need.’

‘Yes, of—’

‘It’ll cost you though,’ Jeza replied coolly. ‘We’ve also heard that bankers are looking to give a lot of cash to the army. If we can get a little contribution for
working with you, we’ll be happy enough. That could change all our futures. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’

They were young, but definitely not stupid. Brynd took a sip of the wine and winced. One of the girls – Pilli? – chuckled and said something about no one liking their drinks.

‘Of course if you’d rather we sold this stuff elsewhere . . .’ Jeza started.

‘No,’ Brynd replied, ‘that won’t be necessary. We can arrange a contract, I’m sure. But I’ll need to see what you’ve actually got first, and I’ll
need guarantees – you see, you’re a lot younger than people I normally deal with.’

‘Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we’re unreliable,’ Diggsy said.

‘I mean, just look at what we’ve achieved so far,’ Jeza said. Then, to Diggsy, ‘I knew no one would take us seriously.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Brynd said. ‘What we’re dealing with here is something quite unnatural and untested, and – to be honest – I have no idea if what
you’ve got can be deployed in military use yet. For example, can I make requests?’

‘We can look at that, sure,’ Jeza confirmed. ‘But before we go on, we just want to know you’re interested.’

‘There are many details I wish to mull over,’ Brynd continued, ‘but you should know that yes, I
am
interested – and I can assure you that money’s not a
problem.’

Brynd placed his cup on the floor and stood up. ‘Hopefully then you’ll be able to buy better wine for your guests.’

He offered a smile and extended a hand to Jeza. She looked up at him with amazement, as if she had not expected him to take them seriously at all.

‘Write to me again, but next time I want to see something finished and ready to test.’

She shook his hand. ‘Sure, we’ll have something in a day or so. You won’t regret it.’

As Brynd left with the Dragoon archers, he realized that this was one of the few times in his life when he’d met a group of people who did not appear startled by his skin colour.

A day later, Brynd rode south on his mare, with Randur Estevu alongside him on a skittish grey colt, which he did not seem able to keep under control.

Late afternoon sunshine was sliding from the sky, leaving an oily residue across the clouds.

The road out of the city was lined with wiry horses and oxen. Bored-looking beasts trudged along the mud-tracks hauling felled trees to the lumber yards or huge chunks of stone for the masons.
At this hour, there were dozens of them making their way to the city before the sun set.

‘These are encouraging signs, young Randur,’ Brynd called out, gesturing at the line of traffic. ‘These are the building blocks of the new age. The city will be rebuilt. Life
will be restored to what it was. This gives me hope.’

‘Well, not to be annoying about it,’ Randur replied, ‘but anything’s better than the pile of shite that Villiren was a while ago, let’s be honest.’

‘Your mood is still sour, I see.’ Brynd pulled his horse to slow down to a more casual pace, so that he could sip some water and contemplate the gentle flow of people. ‘Any
chance it will improve, since we’ve a way to go yet? I would have thought this country air would’ve done a rural fellow like you some good.’

‘Bugger has it done me any good. It’s cold out here, and I’m hungry, if you must know.’

Brynd chuckled and said nothing.

‘What’re you laughing at?’ Randur asked. ‘Do I amuse you somehow? Look, chap, not all of us have had our senses slapped into some new state where we can’t feel
anything any more.’

‘A little. You remind me of an old comrade,’ Brynd said. ‘He was a good friend, actually, and he was just as pessimistic as you.’

‘I wasn’t always this bad, you know. Doesn’t seem that long ago that I was chipper and looking around for little but a decent plate of meat or a lady’s sigh. So, what
happened to him, your comrade?’

‘He died.’

‘Oh,’ Randur replied. ‘Sorry to hear that. Was he killed in Villiren?’

‘No, he died just before as it happens – we were on our way here, to Villiren,’ Brynd replied. ‘It was our first encounter with the Okun, just an outrider group – a
couple of hundred of the Empire’s finest. Got himself fatally injured but that didn’t stop him in his dying moments dragging a pile of relics to collapse the ice long enough for us to
get out. He saved the Night Guard and a good few soldiers, and allowed us all to get back to the city so that the defence could be maintained. If it wasn’t for him, I suspect, Villiren would
have fallen. He was a good one, ultimately. Bitter and jaded, just like you, and would have gone to great lengths to avoid doing any work. Just like you.’

‘Hey, I’ve done my fair share,’ Randur grunted. ‘I’ve saved Eir from execution, as well as your
charming
Empress Rika. Took them from right under
Urtica’s eye, and I brought them all the way out here. I think I’ve earned a rest, don’t you? Especially from that woman Rika. You can deal with her sourness now.’

‘Tell me,’ Brynd began, ‘did anything happen to Rika before you brought her to Villiren? She seems rather different these days. You went through quite a journey, so it seems.
That’s enough to change someone’s outlook . . .’

‘You’re ferreting out why she’s such a miserable sow all of a sudden, aren’t you? Truth be told, I don’t know. She was always boring, right from when I met her, but
at least there was something gentle to her then. Now, she’s . . . Well, there’s a glint in her eye that wasn’t there before. You could call it a darkness in her heart –
she’s no longer a docile girl, no longer some meek former priestess. She wasn’t the same after she met Artemisia. I take it you were told about us being on her ship?’

‘Yeah, Rika and Eir told me about that. A ship in the sky – quite remarkable.’

‘Ridiculous if you ask me, though the flying monkey things were fun. Anyway, things changed then, on that ship. I wouldn’t like to say that it was Artemisia’s doing, but Rika
felt like that warrior woman was her god. She was in awe of her right from the off, and didn’t seem to want to question her like we did, me and Eir. Then – and here’s the really
weird part – they took the same chambers at night. Heard groaning, but didn’t know if they were, you know . . .’ He raised his eyebrows at Brynd. ‘Getting their end
away.’

‘I understood you from your expression, thank you,’ Brynd said. ‘You don’t know for certain? This could change things.’

‘The old pervert in me likes to think they were – just to loosen Rika up a bit, you know? But truth be told, I’m not sure. The groans could have been from pleasure or
pain.’

‘What happened after that?’

‘Well, next thing you know, Rika suddenly toughened up a little. At the time I was just grateful she stopped being so useless and passive – things would happen with a little more
certainty.’ Randur let out a sigh. ‘I’ve no doubt we’re all doing the right thing by Artemisia, having witnessed what I have, and having been protected by her blades. But
Rika’s a different person by a long way. And I just hope . . .’

Brynd remained silent, hoping Randur might continue. The wind stirred, sliding across this bleak landscape.

Randur pushed back a lock of his long black hair, and flashed him a grin. ‘I bet after saving the city you didn’t anticipate handing over the reins of the Empire to such a
bitch.’

Brynd grunted. ‘You should have more respect for the woman who leads so many people into this new era.’

‘Thing is,’ Randur replied, ‘how much respect does the woman have for her people?’

*

They rode on for the better part of an hour until the road petered out, becoming nothing more than a muddy trail. The lights of the city faded from view, and the darkness and
silence of the countryside became something more complete. Stars were brighter and the temperature plummeted. It wasn’t long before all they could hear were the sounds of the horses’
hooves and the animals’ breathing.

They navigated east around the edge of the Wych Forest, and up a long, gentle slope that seemed to go on forever. Even at this hour, one of the moons cast enough light to suggest that nothing
had been moving around here for days, not even any animals. The horses walked slower wherever the snow deepened; Brynd was careful not to injure them on this terrain. The further inland they
travelled, clouds suddenly began to mass, obscuring the stars, and Brynd could smell the smoke from campfires some way off.

They’re here at least
. . .

Brynd halted his mare, dismounted, and tied her to a broken tree stump.

Randur followed suit, and then stepped alongside him. ‘Is this it?’ he asked. ‘Where are they meant to be? There’s nothing but snow and the odd dead tree.’

‘We’re not quite at the top of the hill,’ Brynd replied. ‘I want to walk there cautiously because I can hear them over the other side.’

‘I can’t hear a thing,’ Randur moaned.

Brynd ignored him and marched a little further up the slope. The ground was frozen solid. It began to rain, gently at first, then came heavier drops – again, he noticed, not snow, but
rain
.

‘For fucksake,’ Randur said, drawing up his hood, ‘I don’t know why we couldn’t just ride to the top.’

‘Though this is a friendly visit, we need to see what they’re made of,’ Brynd replied, pulling up his own hood. ‘We need to see what they’ve got, what their
capabilities are. And, most of all, we need to
shut the hell up
.’

Brynd moved cautiously up the slope for a few minutes. He kept looking around for any signs of scouts, but he could see none. It annoyed him that they had no one guarding the perimeter.

Randur followed, rather reluctantly, and whispered, ‘Hey, I think I can hear something now. What can you see?’

As Brynd crested the hill, the scene down below presented itself slowly.

Row upon row of yurts and tents stretched in precise rows as far as he could see. Fires, set within immense cauldrons, were burning at regular intervals, at intersections in the lanes.
Meanwhile, strange shapes lumbered in the half-light, occasionally illuminated by the flames.

Immense and ragged banners rippled in the evening breeze, each bearing exotic insignias, with strange shapes and curves to the designs. Meat was being cooked in aromatic spices that he
couldn’t recognize, but which reached him even at this distance. And, all around this vast site, humans and rumels – with other, similar-looking life forms – were sitting in
enclaves or standing to attention as they were addressed by some more senior official. Brynd estimated that there were twenty or thirty thousand warriors down there, and Bohr only knows how many
beyond. Some wore bright armour, some were covered in dark cloaks, but what struck him was how
similar
they looked to people from his own world. Their attire was not more exotic than could
be found among the cultures of the Boreal Archipelago – a fact that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as if there were some shared characteristics, some common essence between the two
worlds. That seemed to confirm the new histories that Artemisia had provided. They were cultural cousins.

Randur came up alongside him and, with his jaw open wide, managed to say, ‘Well bugger me. Would you look at that.’

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Brynd replied.

‘Well you wanted an army, chief,’ Randur said. ‘It looks like you’ve got one.’

‘Not quite. We’ve still got to persuade them to fight with us.’

The two of them remained stationary as they examined the expanse beyond, contemplating just what this could mean, until something barked in a language Brynd did not recognize.

He knew what that meant.