The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (43 page)

‘Have you any idea what to expect?’ she asked.

Brynd kept staring at his reflection. ‘I told some of the others earlier to wipe their minds of expectations, because what we’ll probably see could be beyond comprehension or as
quotidian as the place we’ve just left. It’s a civilian vessel, so I understand, but we’ve already seen the kind of evil it houses.’

Tiendi nodded, but remained resolute. ‘I’ll keep thinking in simple terms: we’re just deploying a bomb. Or, at least, a
bomber
who wants to kill himself.’ She
indicated Frater Mercury. ‘What will his explosives do, precisely? They look no bigger than the kind of thing a cultist might use, but at that size it wouldn’t produce much,
surely?’

Brynd glanced again at the small metallic devices strapped to Frater Mercury’s waist and chest. ‘I doubt they’ll be explosives in the conventional manner. He’s a person
of incredible ability. No doubt he’ll be able to kill himself in the appropriate manner when the time comes.’

There was a small explosion somewhere nearby. The cage shuddered as the dragon plunged slightly, and Brynd gripped the rails while Artemisia pressed her hands against the roof for stability.

‘It is to be expected, commander,’ she called over, waving him back down to his seat. ‘These creatures are quicker. They have greater awareness. We will be quite
safe.’

‘What’s going on?’ Brynd demanded.

‘We are being fired at, that is all.’

‘Are the decoys ahead of us?’

‘They are ahead and behind, and all around us. Our main strike force lies in the middle of the formation.’

‘How long now?’

‘A quarter of one hour at the most.’

*

Brynd put on his helmet and watched Tiendi do the same. They pulled their visors down and mounted the Mourning Wasps. Frater Mercury shuffled humbly underneath Brynd’s wasp, and he watched in amazement as two of the wasp’s legs suddenly scooped him up and secured him in place. Brynd placed his hands on the
back of the wasp in a way he might do with a horse, and though it seemed absurd he felt it was necessary to ensure the creature felt some affinity with him.

Artemisia climbed onto her dragon. The three creatures lined up at the rear of the cage, facing outwards. They could feel the cage tilt as they began what must have been the final arc when they
peeled away from the main squadron of dragons. Explosions came and went, noises bursting out of sight.

They were falling now, at high speed, gravity pushing Brynd back so hard he became instantly satisfied that the modified straps that the youths had made would hold him in place.

He positioned himself so he would be prepared to steer his mount. He looked across to Tiendi and she indicated her readiness with a salute. Artemisia remained totally fixed on the door of the
wooden cage. Brynd indicated for the wasps to begin to hover; he felt the tiny vibrations of their muscles become something more distinct.

The dragon tilted. The door gave way to a crack of light, then a full-blown whiteness, then extreme winds, before the dragon levelled off to reveal their hideous destination.

Artemisia gave the word. Her dragon lunged out of the cage and the Mourning Wasps quickly followed.

They spiralled out into the sky, the Night Guard on wasps, following Artemisia’s silhouette, wind buffeting their descent. Brynd attempted to absorb what was going on around him –
amidst the clouds, hundreds of creatures were spaced apart in rows, at varying distances, engaged in combat, and down below what he initially mistook for land was the dark scar of the Policharos
– the sky-city. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Night Guard lined up behind him or drifting from the other cages, joining his ranks, alongside people who looked very much like
Artemisia, on reptiles identical to her own. The sound of the wind managed to block out much of what was going on; he could not hear the cries of the dying or the clash of weapons – this was
a kind of warfare he was totally unfamiliar with.

Directly above, dragons were engaged in skirmishes with similar-looking animals; missiles or bombs were exploding far away, and Brynd couldn’t be certain whether or not they were like the
mute bombs or something more hideous. Tucked safely underneath his wasp, lay Frater Mercury.

Artemisia guided their large group in a graceful arc to the left, down towards the Policharos. It loomed into view, black and elaborate in detail. Little flickers of light shot across spires at
the top; huge spiked structures leered out on multiple levels; there were platforms on which he could see tiny figures, some of them firing into the sky. Massive alien beings – or possibly
statues – stood on others, looking out onto the battle.

Their attack force dashed towards the underside of the Policharos, but not quite all the way. They halted on one of the lowest levels, where there was a void amidst the black architecture.
Artemisia levelled out and Brynd steered the wasp accordingly. Another glance to check everyone was following and then straight in towards the void, which turned out to be a doorway beyond a
landing platform that headed into the Policharos.

As they flew in low over the platform, Brynd relaxed slightly, before steeling himself for what lay inside the sky-city, which had brought so much death to his world.

*

Walls and buildings appeared to be impossibly tall, lurching up into the blackness above. There were slits of green and purple light scattered around that appeared to be
windows, but he was moving too fast to really know. Though Artemisia led the group, it was so dark in here that the benefits of having memorized the way were obvious. They hovered a few feet above
the ground and sped along a winding route; their formation changed so that Brynd, carrying Frater Mercury, was at the centre of the group. Surrounded by Night Guard soldiers, he didn’t have to worry too much about attacks from any direction, so he could concentrate on their
surroundings.

They passed through what he took to be civilian areas; there were hominids, but not humans or rumels, alongside taller, fatter, more grotesque and exotic creatures, whose own noises were weirdly
animalistic. Everyone here was panicking. Groups of figures in military-style uniform emerged onto the scene but only after the attack group had passed. As his eyes settled into the darkness he
could see buildings defined against the black roof; tall structures that must have been over forty storeys high.

A noise behind drew his attention to two-legged creatures lumbering at the rear, and gaining on their group, but Artemisia’s people had this under control; in an instant they peeled back
from the flight pack, withdrew their swords and hacked at their pursuers’ legs. He heard a faint scream blend into the distance before they were too far out of range. Then artillery –
arrows and spears – began to whip by above his head at a ferocious velocity. Artemisia reached down to her side, picked up a small glass sphere, held it above her head and crushed it;
immediately there seemed to be a field of translucent light around them and the projectiles aimed their way clattered against it before falling uselessly to one side.

The group rounded several corners at high speed and after that there were long straights; the surroundings were a blur; only the looming buildings in the distance remained in focus. If Brynd
remembered correctly then they’d only have a short distance to go now, possibly another mile.

The drones of the wasps prevented him from hearing the attack that suddenly occurred: three metallic dragons crashed into their force field; one of them seemed electrified with static and fell
away, taking with it their defences. The other two dragons attacked and dispersed their group. At least two of the Night Guard were sent reeling and clattering to the ground. Brynd looked down to
note the area in the hope that he might pick them up on the way back.

He could not stay and fight but had to go straight on and hope that as many of his own could keep up with him. A glance over his shoulder and he saw there was no right flank now. It had been
totally decimated – three of the Night Guard and one of Artemisia’s lookalikes gone.

The group quickly re-formed around Brynd and his precious cargo. There seemed to be some kind of bell being rung. Lights flashed close by. Strange objects lurched in and out of view. He had no
idea what was going on at times. It was all happening too fast to register. Artemisia still led the way, true to her word, and all he could do was follow.

‘It’s a shame,’ Malum muttered to his gang members. They had just returned from disposing of the bodies in the harbour – just like he said he would. For
some reason, it seemed the least he could do. ‘I almost liked the guy, despite the fact that he’d expose us. How did you find the killing, boy?’

‘All right,’ the lad replied. He refused to make eye contact, despite Malum’s best efforts. He was only eighteen and Malum was conscious that his nervous nature, his great
uncertainty, needed training out of him sooner rather than later. The lad had been a runaway, had spent most of his time working in a decrepit bistro on the edge of the Wastelands, and had only
recently come into Malum’s gang because he was scared about aliens threatening their way of life.

‘It gets easier,’ Malum replied, and placed a fatherly arm around him. ‘You did a good thing. You helped progress our cause. You did that for the city – you just remember
that. You’re protecting people. It’s hard to see, but it’s like an elaborate, strategic game. Every little move doesn’t seem much at the time, but when you see it in the
context of the game, it all becomes clear. You helped with a great move, an important defensive one. I’m proud of you. Hey, aren’t we proud, guys?’

The other men in the room suddenly erupted in cheers, and Malum pushed the boy into their masses so that he could soak up some of their energy.

It had been a productive day, Malum concluded. Despite the minor disturbance earlier, he had managed to muster a decent number of fighters, around four thousand in all, which would be more than
enough. What made him most proud, though, was that these were largely people who could have sided with the commander, but who chose not to. They were committed to Villiren, not him. They wanted a
city free of alien intent, and they would draw blood to have it so.

*

Evening came. Both moons remained low in the sky. A relatively warm breeze drifted across the rooftops of the city. The night seemed full of energy and promise. The gathering
masses in the street outside brought a huge sense of pride to Malum.

He had been disappointed that those cultist youths could not provide a living monster in time for his needs. Monsters would have been ideal to cause havoc, or to use in convincing the citizens
that their lives were under threat. Perhaps the military had warned off the youths, Malum couldn’t be sure – but one thing he knew in life was never to piss off people who dabbled in
relics.

A couple of minor explosions detonating in the distance gave Malum reason to smile.

His plan benefited from a simple fact: the military were now out of the way. He hadn’t expected them to leave the Citadel completely unguarded, but his rag-tag army of four thousand would
be enough to deal with whatever had been left. There were watchtowers and a few guard stations scattered throughout the city, which about now were being overcome. He had sent groups of youths with
crossbows, machetes and munitions purchased from cultists to deal with such stations. He had ordered them to show no mercy. As of now, they were engaged in the business of war. Anyone wearing an
Imperial uniform was to be killed outright, and no citizens should be harmed unless they were loyal to the Empire.

Though much of this was hasty planning, Malum needed to make the most of this opportunity. It was important that such positions were taken out one by one before the rest of the surge could move
forward. It meant they could storm the Citadel without anyone forewarning them. Once the Citadel was under his control, then he could go on with the rest of his plan.

Malum had already begun contemplating a vague manifesto. He had some vague notions of protecting people from the Imperial skirmishes, which would be easy enough to do once he had the people on
his side, but then he knew he’d have to think about other matters such as employment and prosperity, things that people would rightly care about. His gangs would issue true protection –
for a fee from those who could afford it. Once he was in command, he could use an old trick of the former portreeve – issue a new property tax: that way he would force those with a little
power and wealth to submit to him. He’d also have to employ people who could deal with all the paperwork.

Malum looked up from his musings.
All that can wait
, he told himself.

He could hear his people outside – the gangs and those they had brought to their side. They were making a lot of noise. He stepped outside to greet them. Instantly, those closest in his
gang stepped to his side for his protection, but he quickly leapt up on a barrel to address the gathered masses. It was a wide street, and people were rammed in thickly. From one end of the street
to the other, they had come together to rebel against their Imperial rulers and make a show, to give the impression that a powerful force would soon be in charge. Many had come carrying torches
that flickered strongly in the calm breeze. Others brandished their swords above their heads like some tribal clan.

They cheered as soon as they saw Malum and he basked in their adoration for a while. He finally held up his hands for calm, which took a while to settle down.

He reminded them of the oppression that the military would bring, of the dangers of aliens walking alongside humans and rumels, of what would happen if they failed. He ordered that no one
wearing a military uniform be spared, because if the Night Guard did return one day soon, then they would try to free their comrades. There could be no second chances. If they were to free Villiren
and maintain a force to protect it against aliens, they would have to do it properly. They’d raid the Citadel’s vaults and make sure people who supported them had plenty of food on
their tables to feed their families. Cheers went up again and this time he could barely hear himself talk.