The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (19 page)

Still some of the Okun broke through and proceeded towards the Dragoon shield-wall. The soldiers held their line firm as the Okun clattered into their armour. Fulcrom couldn’t see what
happened – his attention was drawn to the air yet again. Arrows started to sail over their heads from different angles as the archers on the flanks fired randomly. The explosions thinned out
the enemy’s next assault wave, stopping any chance that they could create much of an impact.

Having slaughtered the first wave of the Okun, the Night Guard regrouped. The very front line of Dragoons peeled off from the main combat zone, filtering back through the rows; a fresh line
stepped forward. Fulcrom smiled at the efficiency of it all – those soldiers who had stepped from the front had their wounds tended to by military medics or cultists.

As the sun slipped lower, fading from the day, the Okun came again in dribs and drabs and small, vulnerable bands. The initial threat of their sheer mass had been nullified. It seemed a
half-hearted effort at best and they were dispatched with the same efficiency as before. Row after row of Dragoons piled forward, seizing on islands of Okun, whilst the Night Guard themselves
continued to fight like beings from another world.

The albino commander led from the very front, his presence on the battlefield unmistakable. Pale face caked in blood, and shifting back and forth with the agility of a dancer, he hacked and
slashed his sabre into the gaps in the Okun shell, striking more vulnerable flesh. He exuded a confidence that Fulcrom admired and envied. All of Fulcrom’s fear had gone.

The adrenalin rush had dissipated as the minutes rolled by. He couldn’t tell precisely when it happened, that the threat was pushed back to the point where it was no longer a threat.
Darkness came rather suddenly. Fulcrom looked up and noticed the sky-city had drifted slightly northwards, perhaps having hoped there would be nothing left here to see. A moment or so later a cheer
started, somewhere at the far end of the defensive line, which progressed towards him.

Euphoria . . .

‘They tell me you’re in charge around here,’ said Commander Brynd Lathraea. He wiped his face with a small rag, leaving a few smears of blood across his
cheeks, but it was better than before. He was a handsome man, remarkably pale-skinned, with eyes so dazzling they unsettled Fulcrom at first. There were other soldiers in the distance, milling
around, and signs of order were returning to the refugee convoy.

‘I doubt you can call it
being in charge
,’ Fulcrom replied with a dry chuckle. ‘Most of this has seemed so completely beyond my control.’

‘It often feels like that, doesn’t it? But I can assure you that’s quite natural. The skill comes from eventually discerning the planned chaos from actual chaos. I’ve
heard remarkably good things about you. It seems that without your leadership we may not have had any people left to defend this evening.’

Fulcrom didn’t know what to say. Had he succeeded? It didn’t feel like much of a success.

‘Do you think the Okun will return?’ he asked.

‘Not at night, I’d say,’ the commander replied. ‘We found from the defence of Villiren that their military activities took place during the day. I can’t work out
their response to daylight – perhaps it has something to do with their biology – but such things ultimately work in our favour. Though I cannot vouch for any of their kin.’

Fulcrom nodded.

‘Walk with me,’ the commander requested. They turned and began trudging back up the slope, military personnel surrounding them. There were quite a few stretchers being carried to the
hastily set-up medical tents with several dozen injured soldiers, some of them clearly not human.

‘Now tell me, Investigator Fulcrom – what the hell happened to Villjamur?’

‘When were you last there?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘A lot changed, even before we were forced to flee.’

‘I left before the Empress and her sister were set up for a crime they did not commit and were due to be executed on the city wall. They escaped. Urtica became Emperor.’

‘Is that the official story now?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘That they were in the clear?’

Brynd nodded. ‘As much as these things still matter, yes. We’re annexed from the Empire now,’ he continued, looking around, ‘but that is a situation which seems out of
date considering there seems little from which to be annexed.’

‘That’s putting in mildly.’

Fulcrom gave as accurate an account as possible, starting with Urtica’s crackdown on law and order. ‘In the Inquisition, we thought it would be good – that we’d have
powers to do our job thoroughly. The crackdown went rather far, though. The military upped their patrols on the streets and started harassing those from Caveside. Crime, ironically, started to
rise.’

‘Soldiers shouldn’t be on the streets like that,’ the commander observed. ‘They’re not trained to deal with civilians in that way.’

‘I agree with you on that. Well, given the tensions in the city, things were bound to escalate. A woman called Shalev arrived in the city and organized the Cavesiders. She came from the
cultist isle and she was remarkably efficient in targeting structures of power. The rebels became so efficient, in fact, that the Emperor panicked. He was beginning his programme of repairing the
city and didn’t want a revolution on his streets – and so he created the Villjamur Knights.’

‘And they would be . . . ?’

‘Cultist-designed heroes. I was in charge of them, as it happens. There were only three of them and they were each given special powers to help fight crime. A little like the Night Guard
but more specialized. Only one survives now, and her name is Lan. At the same time the underground movement had swelled to a point where tensions were simply too much. I’ve heard talk that
there was an attempt on the Emperor’s life and that he was assassinated, but that all became overshadowed by the presence of the sky-city.’

‘Indeed . . .’ the commander said. ‘Do you know where it came from?’

‘I don’t know,’ Fulcrom continued. ‘One moment there was nothing but the usual grey skies, the next it was just there – dropping creatures into the city and
massacring people.’

‘You seem to have handled it well,’ the commander observed. ‘Getting everyone out here like this, getting them all moving – that kind of thing isn’t
simple.’

Fulcrom grimaced. ‘It just . . . happened, really. No one knew what to do. I’ve not even mentioned Frater Mercury yet.’

‘Frater who?’

*

The man who invented the rules – you’ll see.

That’s what the rumel investigator had said – the man who invented the rules, and the man who could probably save them – if he chose to do so. This, then, would be the person
Artemisia mentioned back at the Citadel, the one so important to their world.

Brynd walked with the affable investigator up the slope, a little exhausted now despite the fact that the battle had been relatively simple compared with Villiren. His mind was thoroughly
engaged in processing the mess that the Jamur Empire had become. Although a staggering number of people had died, more deaths had been avoided, and he couldn’t help but feel satisfied that
the battle had proven successful. The Okun had been comprehensively defeated, thanks to combining forces with Artemisia’s people – an important gesture. Also, his new armour was
everything he had hoped for.

When they crested the hill, Brynd stared in awe at the scene below. Enormous, strange vessels were drifting out to sea, the crude, flat outlines more akin to floating islands than ships, and how
they were moving without sails was anyone’s guess.

‘That is what Frater Mercury does,’ Fulcrom said enthusiastically next to him. The relief was clear on the rumel’s face. ‘He changes all the rules.’

‘What are they?’ Brynd asked.

‘They
were
land-vehicles,’ Fulcrom said.

‘We had reports of such things, but
what
are they?’

‘So far as I can tell, exactly that – they’re moving vehicles crafted from the fabric of the earth itself – quite literally. Frater Mercury – the man, being,
thing
I mentioned – possesses some qualities that we can’t fathom.’

Fulcrom then explained the emergence of this being as the result of a priest coming to Villjamur, brought through worlds by means of some arcane ritual.

‘What happened to the priest?’

Fulcrom shrugged. ‘Gone. Presumably killed during the events in Villjamur.’ Fulcrom hesitated before continuing. ‘The priest said some strange things, about our history not
being as we believe it to be.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Brynd replied, looking around cautiously. ‘We have figures from the other realm who can confirm this was the case.’

‘These figures,’ Fulcrom said, ‘will they be looking for Frater Mercury?’

‘Yes, I’d say that’s very likely. That will need to happen before the next phase.’

‘What’s that going to be?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘The next phase.’

Brynd turned back to face the sky-city, which was defined only by the absence of starlight. ‘We’ll need to take that thing down and wipe out anything it’s brought to ground and
that does not wish to exist peacefully. There are no gentle solutions, and very little room for negotiations. At the same time, we have to accept that we are going to have to share our world with
other species. There is plenty of land, many islands that are sparsely populated, but I can’t imagine it’s going to be a smooth journey.’

‘How do you plan to take down the sky-city?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘It’s already obliterated Villjamur.’

‘First, we’re going to complete the evacuation, get ourselves to safety and, once we have time to build up enough of an opposition, then we can begin to consider our real
options.’

‘In the meantime,’ Fulcrom said, ‘we lose the island of Jokull?’

‘The Empire may have collapsed, but we still have the people,’ Brynd said diplomatically. As he looked to the future, he had already lost his emotional attachments to the concept of
the old Empire. ‘Life as we know it has changed and a new world will form – for better or worse. We need people to shape these events, however – people like you.’

Fulcrom turned to watch the ships again. ‘I’ve never really contemplated what I’d do next. Getting off the island was all I could think about for every waking hour. How could I
help?’

‘There will need to be a force similar to the Inquisition – even for a transitional period. Not just in Villiren, where we’re currently based, but the new plans would need
defining for further afield. And I tend not to trust many people from Villiren.’

‘I’ve heard it’s a pretty fast and loose city.’

Brynd laughed. ‘Yes, you could say that. And that was
before
the war, so imagine how problematic things are now. No, now I’ll need good investigators, and a different form of
street policing. We’re carving our own future at the moment – but you should be a part of that, given your achievements and leadership skills.’

A figure bounded towards them, descending from above; Brynd tensed and moved for his sabre.

‘It’s all right,’ Fulcrom said. ‘It’s Lan, one of the Villjamur Knights – the group I told you about. She’s the last remaining one.’

Brynd examined the newcomer: she was lithe and athletic, with a strong, overgrown dark fringe and an outfit as black as night. There was a strange symbol on the front, now muddied: a white cross
set within a circle. ‘A Villjamur Knight,’ Brynd muttered, and nodded. ‘Fulcrom here has been telling me about what happened in Villjamur. So you fought crime on behalf of
Urtica?’

‘Something like that,’ she said with a half smile, and he knew by her sarcasm that she wasn’t some pre-programmed Urtican puppet. Lan gave them a report on what was happening
with the civilian movements. ‘There are now twenty craft transporting roughly two or three thousand people.’

‘How are they travelling?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘What’s taken the place of the horses?’

‘Nothing,’ Lan said and then laughed gently. ‘The horses are walking on the surface of the sea – it was incredible to witness. They seemed tentative at first but whatever
Frater Mercury did to them – or the sea, or both – they’re now happily treading on the surface as if it was sand. We’ve had to space the vehicles wide enough apart so that
the waves created don’t soak the people. There’re enough freezing to death already.’

Brynd nodded and gestured to the horizon. ‘I’ve seen to it that every seaworthy vessel is sailing to this island to help with the evacuation,’ he replied. ‘Garudas are
helping with their navigation – we didn’t quite know where the exit point would be – but we should have a few thousand fishing boats, longships, trade ships, whatever we can get
our hands on, all landing ashore over the next day or two.’

‘Will that be quick enough?’ Fulcrom enquired.

Brynd frowned. ‘I just don’t know. The dragons are transporting another few thousand soldiers so we’ll have more troops ashore before sunrise. We can form several lines of
defence, to ensure the safety of the civilian population. We’re doing what we can.’

‘I think the people will be more than grateful,’ Lan said. ‘Now, I should really get back – there were a few fights over who should be evacuated first. You would have
thought people could stick together in times like this. Anyway, I have to make sure more conflicts don’t break out.’

‘Excellent suggestion,’ Brynd said.

Lan touched Fulcrom’s arm, and he smiled back at her. She turned and jogged into the distance. Brynd noted those final tender gestures Fulcrom had made towards her, and questioned their
status.

‘We are partners,’ Fulcrom confessed, ‘in more than one sense.’

Brynd nodded and thought no more of the comment. He was relieved simply to have met two decent
individuals. The future would need people like them.

*

Hours later, sometime between midnight and dawn, the sea-vehicles returned to the shore. Someone clattered a crude copper bell and started shouting in an attempt to rouse people
from their slumber, and for the next wave of evacuees to assemble. There weren’t enough craft for the job – people just had to wait.