The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (44 page)

He bellowed instructions. He shouted for them to walk – as one – to the periphery of the Citadel. Then they would try all the entrances and accessible doorways. If that failed, they
would use industrial ladders to scale the walls. They would use rope, stone, fire, whatever it took to get inside that building.

*

Brynd arrived at the sky-city district where the power mechanisms were located, which turned out to be in the same region as the huge multi-storey buildings. As they slowed,
more hominids revealed themselves; there were houses here, shops, various kinds of market, people, children, all the elements of a society. What did he think there’d be? These were people,
too, but registering this fact didn’t make his job any easier.

Creatures began to call out aggressively; military figures headed into view. He blanked them out and continued along with Artemisia. Had she seriously expected them to come in here in a small
team on foot? It would have taken hours, possibly even days and more than likely they would have been massacred.

She hovered her dragon for a moment and Brynd pulled his Mourning Wasp in alongside her, and flipped up his visor. All kinds of strange scents reached his nose, but it was overpowered by a
harsh, vaguely metallic odour. He had no idea where it came from. There were people gathered in small enclaves, gaping at them. Brynd checked again to see if Frater Mercury was still there, and he
was, remaining as inert as ever.

Artemisia gestured to a path between tall, red-coloured buildings, before riding off. Brynd pulled down his visor and they picked up speed again. Everything blurred past – lights and
sounds and people becoming one incoherent assault on his senses.

Eventually they arrived at a junction with immense yet thin honeycomb domes arranged side by side. There must have been twenty or more, all of them a good hundred feet tall. They were silver,
with a black skeletal framework, each one lit up in a slightly different shade of purple or violet. Surrounding these was a glossy black floor, utterly bare.

Artemisia slowed to a halt. Brynd steered in next to her and opened his visor.

‘We deploy him here,’ she said.

Brynd was amazed, when it came to it, at how little reverence she had for someone her culture treated as a god.

He leaned over and called down, ‘Sir, now is the time. Could you release yourself?’

Making no acknowledgement of having heard Brynd’s words, Frater Mercury placed a hand on the underside of the wasp’s skull for a moment before the creature slowly peeled away its
legs, placing them on the floor one by one, and finally stopping its wings. Frater Mercury slid out and stood up; he rearranged the devices on his person before looking at Artemisia. She spoke in
her own tongue for a minute or two, Brynd’s heart thumping with impatience. With her sword she pointed towards the honeycomb towers and Frater Mercury walked calmly, like a priest to a
sermon, towards them.

Brynd called out, ‘We will ensure your gesture is not forgotten – we will see to it that people know of who you are and what you did.’

Forget me
, Frater Mercury said, without facing him.

Brynd could hear more explosions in the distance, more bells, more chaos.

‘We should make our retreat now.’

‘I want to make certain he heads in there.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘To give us the same amount of time as it took us to get here to make our retreat, in addition to a few more minutes in case of attack.’

‘Then we’ve no time to waste.’ He turned to do a quick head count and confirmed to himself that three more Night Guard soldiers had fallen, though he didn’t know who at
this stage. And this was only half the mission. They still needed to get out.

‘Now I am satisfied,’ she said. Frater Mercury was no longer to be seen, lost in the purple glow of the honeycomb towers.

The Mourning Wasps started up again and this time they would take a different formation, riding in threes, as wide as the narrowest street, and in a straight line. They drifted up off the
ground, turned in an arc and sped quickly into the alien cityscape.

‘Another dull night,’ Randur muttered.

‘Sorry, sir?’ the guard replied.

‘I said it’s another dull night,’ Randur repeated, leaning in the doorway.

The guard remained impassive. He was a broad young lad, possibly little older than Randur was, and he had stood outside of their chamber now for three nights without saying anything.

‘Wouldn’t you rather be on the battlefield?’ Randur enquired. ‘You know, strutting your stuff, cracking open a few Okun skulls, that sort of thing?’

‘The commander’s orders were for me to remain here,’ the guard replied, looking forward, stood to attention. ‘And that’s where I’ll stay. Sir.’

‘It’s all right,’ Randur said, ‘you can slouch. You can sit on the floor if you must. Want a chair? Don’t stand to attention for my sake.’

‘Orders were to protect yourself and Lady Eir, sir.’

Folding his arms, Randur sighed and peered down the gloomy corridor. ‘See that, down there? Bugger all, that’s what’s down there. Nothing but shadows. Shadows aren’t
going to be much of a threat. Why not grab some vodka and join me for a few card games? We’ll keep the stakes low – I know wages aren’t what they used to be. Fuck it, why not head
downstairs and open up the Imperial coffers for kicks?’

‘Wouldn’t be prudent, sir,’ the guard replied.

‘Relax, I was joking,’ Randur muttered. ‘Well, suit yourself, anyway. Let me know if there’s any excitement and I’ll give you a hand dealing with it.’

Randur closed the door and strolled back into his chamber. Eir had just finished washing herself after another day at the hospital, and looked thoroughly dishevelled and all the more charming
for it.

‘You’ve not been hassling that poor soldier again, have you?’ Eir asked, drying her hands on a towel.

‘He loves it,’ Randur declared, and reclined with a grunt into a cushioned chair. ‘Besides, he’s not lying dead on a battlefield, so putting up with me is a much more
preferable situation to that, I’d say.’

‘Randur, don’t speak of the war like that. We could be doing well – it’s just that nearly every garuda was needed – so we simply don’t know.’

‘Yeah, that’s true. Have to give the commander his dues, he knows what he’s doing.’

‘That he does,’ Eir replied.

‘Does Brynd still want you doing this hospital stuff now you’re supposed to be overseeing things?’

‘The commander has no choice in the matter,’ Eir replied defiantly.

‘Well, I guess if you’re the boss, then he doesn’t,’ Randur replied. ‘So, what’s my new position in all of this – did you talk about that before he
left?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘As in, I’m your partner, right? So if you were a bloke in charge, and I was your wife, I’d get some kind of duties . . . titles perhaps?’

‘Are you angling for a title?’

‘I’d not say no to one,’ Randur declared with a grin, standing up. He sauntered over to Eir’s side and put his arms around her. ‘I have the airs and graces of
someone who deserves a title, don’t you think?’

Eir burst into laughter. ‘Even if you do say so yourself. Randur Estevu, I’ve got a name for you—’

A knock on the door.

‘What is it?’ Eir asked, stepping away from Randur, as if to appear more professional.

The guard poked his head around the door. ‘Um, Lady Eir, one of the other Citadel guards has just come to me with a report of a little trouble outside.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘A mob, my lady.’

‘Well, what does this
mob
want?’ Eir enquired.

‘Not entirely sure right now, I’m afraid. Just an initial report of a massed gathering approaching the Citadel.’

‘Nothing inherently wrong with that,’ Randur observed. ‘It’s a strange city. People have their little meetings. Reckon it’s something to do with the
gangs?’

‘There are well over a thousand of them, sir,’ the guard grunted.

Randur whistled. ‘Reckon we should take a look?’ he said to Eir, with enthusiasm. ‘Could be a little excitement. Hey, could be a big brawl!’

‘Randur!’ Eir protested. ‘You shouldn’t be excited at such things.’

He waved a hand. ‘I could do with some entertainment. I’ll head up onto the roof to get a better view.’ He turned to the soldier. ‘You up for a little
excitement?’

‘It might be advisable . . .’ the guard agreed. Randur swore he could see a glint of excitement in the lad’s eyes. No one deserved to be this bored in life.

Randur reached for his sword, strapped it firmly to his waist, slung on a long overcoat and buttoned it up to his collar. ‘Sure you don’t want to join us?’

‘I’ve had a long day,’ Eir replied. ‘I’ll let you boys play combat.’

‘Very decent of you,’ Randur smiled.

*

‘What’s your name?’ Randur asked as they jogged along the corridor.

It felt good to get a little blood pumping through his veins again, to have something to do. He half hoped there would be a serious situation, if merely to relieve himself of his boredom.

‘Private Drendan, sir.’

‘Drendan,’ Randur repeated. ‘So what exactly did you see?’

‘Well, it could have been the gangs, sir, but it could have been something more serious.’

They trotted along and up the many flights of stairs until they managed to reach the rooftop. The soldier, much fitter than Randur due to his military training – and Randur’s own
laziness – reached the door well before Randur. He opened it and allowed Randur to step through first.

A strong wind hit him as he ventured out onto the roof of the Citadel. He immediately faced the sea, and Drendan guided him to the side of the building that faced the danger.

‘Over there, sir.’ Drendan pointed to a few buildings immediately to the south, where a cluster of people were loitering. Randur followed his outstretched arm, struggling to see in
the poor light of dusk. At the base of a tall building, by an alleyway, he could see a group of young men, each of them carrying some kind of weapon. On the other side of that building, another few
men could be seen brandishing swords. Then over to the next building, and the next, and so on, until Randur concluded that nearly all the streets behind must be filled with people.

‘What do you suppose they’re playing at?’ Randur asked.

‘This is serious trouble, sir.’

‘Yeah, you might be right. They’ve not come at the Citadel yet, have they?’

‘Not yet. But they might be doing so as we speak.’ Those individual clusters began to drift slowly forward, coalescing into a massive crowd, one that promised to be larger than the
Night Guard homecoming not that long ago.

‘They’re heading this way,’ the soldier observed.

‘What should we do?’ Randur asked.

‘We fortify the Citadel.’

‘How many is
we
exactly?’

‘There are several soldiers who have remained here.’

‘Several. Several soldiers against fuck knows how many of them.’

‘The Citadel is well built, sir.’

‘It had better be,’ Randur muttered. ‘Come on then.’

*

When they were safely within the heart of the Citadel, Drendan saw to it that all potential routes of entry were locked, the main doors barricaded, the portcullis, which rarely
saw use, was lowered, and all windows on the lower floors – not that there were many – were sealed and boarded. It took less than ten minutes, and all the while the noise of the crowd
outside began to intensify.

They held a quick meeting with most of the military personnel present, as well as Eir, who was annoyingly optimistic about their odds.

‘So we have seventeen men – and myself,’ Eir said. ‘Not to mention we have quite a few of the administrative staff, each of whom could be given a sword and not remain
idle. There’s also that cultist, Blavat I believe her name is, who spends most of her time experimenting in the basements. I’d say that puts us in a better position than we thought
previously.’

‘She has a very good point,’ Drendan said.

‘I could try reasoning with them first, however?’ Eir offered.

‘Too dangerous, my lady,’ Drendan said. ‘My limited experience suggests an angry mob isn’t in the mood for negotiation.’

‘If this is the case,’ Eir said, ‘one of us must use one of the underground exits to get a message out via garuda, to locate Brynd wherever he is and to inform him that the
city is under threat.’

‘Any ideas as to the numbers out there?’ Randur asked. ‘At least a thousand, right? So how can we
possibly
hold them off? Come to think of it, why the hell are we under
siege in the first place?’

‘From what I can gather, it is gang-led violence. Some of their anti-Empire chants suggest that they are against our rule.’

‘They picked the right bloody time for it,’ Randur said, ‘what with the Night Guard away.’

‘This sounds more of a planned effort,’ one of the older guards said, ‘if they waited for the main forces to go, leaving us defenceless. It is a cold and calculated attempt to
remove a major Imperial structure.’

‘That means they won’t stop until they’re inside here,’ Drendan said.

‘Not on our watch,’ Randur declared.

‘Agreed,’ the old guard said. ‘We are sworn to you, Lady Eir, to protect you and your seat of power.’

‘Oh, give me a sword, for Bohr’s sake. I can protect myself.’

Randur smiled and handed her his own blade. ‘That she can, lads – she had one of the best in the Archipelago teach her.’

‘Are you certain, Lady Eir?’ The guard had a genuine look of concern. He was clearly of a generation that wasn’t used to noble ladies knowing their way around a blade.

Eir pointed the tip of her sword towards him. ‘I have never been more certain in my life. If this Citadel falls, I shall go with it. It is important that this building remains – it
is the hub of everything that Commander Lathraea has worked for. It contains Imperial wealth, food stores, documents relating to distribution of monies from the bank, the allocation of grain . . .
I could go on, but I hope I get my point across. This building
must not fall
.’