Nights of Villjamur (35 page)

Standing in a row immediately behind the casket was the Night Guard, what was left of it, just eleven members currently. Commander Lathraea stood to attention at the front of them, a vision of darkness in his black uniform, his pale face shining like some ghostly beacon.

Councillors loitered behind him, and then various nobles, in bright robes, further back. Ordinary citizens from the city had been allowed access to this privileged level, so crammed themselves, shoulder to shoulder, into any adjoining street that provided a decent view. All around the city she could see people watching from balconies, standing on walls, leaning from the windows of countless towers. Many of them were waving to her, and there was an element of excitement about the entire city. There would be narrations tonight, as there always were - they would linger on Emperor Johynn's life until the red sun rose. There would be wine, beer, dancing. A few late-night walks where people would be saying how lovely she looked or what a sad time for her to follow in her father's footsteps.

Rika strode down the steps to join her sister by her father's casket. Some part of her wanted to lift the coffin lid, to see what his face looked like one more time, to wonder if her anger would be rekindled, or if she would open up her heart to him only to be met with a cold silence.

Commander Lathraea stepped forwards with a nod and some whispered instructions.

The procession journeyed along the twisted streets of the city, Rika the only one on horseback, elevated so all could see their new ruler. Her mount towing the deceased was somehow vaguely symbolic. Despite the freezing weather, the crowds cheered. Old women threw tundra flowers across the passing carriage. For nearly two hours they progressed, a sad trail of sodden flowers marking their passage towards the underground crypt.

*

Anyone who was anyone in the Jamur Empire made themselves present there in the darkness of the crypt. Every Emperor of the Jamur lineage was buried here, four thousand years of blood kin. It had begun with Jamur Joll, who had first led his people into the ancient town of Vilhallan, as it was known then, after a legendary battle, there proclaiming himself Emperor and ordering the three encircling walls of Villjamur to be built. Johynn would be buried alongside his father, Emperor Gulion, the one who drowned twenty-six years previously with more than a little rumour surrounding the incident. Rika looked on with a strange realization that this is where she herself would be buried, amongst these hundreds of candles, in an eternal stone prison.

*

'War?' Rika gasped. She leaned back in her chair, stared into space. The word echoed in her mind, summoned up feelings of guilt, of shame. War meant death, and she would be complicit in causing it. It didn't even seem her decision to make - the Empire would do what it needed to without her say in the matter.

Two lanterns burned in the room, and a candle on the table and a fire. Animal-head trophies hung on the wooden-panelled walls, which bore the carving of ancient runes. The sense of history here was humbling.

'It's an essential, I assure you,' Chancellor Urtica said. With one upturned hand, he gestured at the maps spread out before them, then moved the candle to cast a light over the Empire's islands of the western Boreal Archipelago. 'Our armies have gathered here on Folke, near the garrison town of Ule. It's our largest fortified area in the east. I'll admit that initially my concerns about war were as yours clearly are. But we've reason to believe there will be a serious attack on our territories from these tribes.' Urtica clutched the edge of the table. 'I've taken every step I can to defend our lands, Empress. You need not worry on that count.' He stepped back to warm himself by the fire.

Rika stood up to get a better perspective on the geography. Seven nations, dozens of islands and rocky outcrops that once meant nothing to her, and even now were abstract, a collection of lines and colour on paper. 'Chancellor, what does all this mean, precisely?'

'It means, my lady, we're sending thousands of troops over a period of time, the first of whom are marching or sailing east even as we speak. It is quite necessary to protect our people.'

It seemed rather odd, defending people by launching an assault on another island. 'Can we afford such an enterprise?'

'That should not be of concern. We councillors have made sure that coin has flowed into Villjamur regularly. It is mainly cultists who are expensive when deployed, but we've little choice but to use them from time to time. I have taken measures to ensure that our tax revenues increase by cutting Veteran Pay, and taxing the well-stocked pensions of those already in the military.' He turned to present her with an earnest expression. 'Essential, if this Empire is to protect itself.'

'Well . . . if you're absolutely certain it is necessary. And the Night Guard?' Rika enquired, thinking of how useful Brynd had been. 'Are they going too?'

'They are . . .' Urtica hesitated, 'required to tackle separate incidents, Empress.'

He told her of events on Tineag'l, a genocide, a potential refugee crisis on a scale never before seen.

She nodded, didn't want to admit any further lack of knowledge and, being a woman, felt that this was a particularly important position to maintain in a male-dominated arena. No matter how enlightened a civilization was, she felt that war always seemed to bring out some primitive urge in men, a need to demonstrate strength.

'My lady, I know there's a lot to take in.' The chancellor smiled knowingly.

Perhaps he didn't mean to sound patronizing, but he did. And he was right: there was such a lot to take in. 'Then I'll leave this matter under your control, chancellor. Although I would be very grateful to be informed of every military movement undertaken.'

He gave a gentle nod. 'As you wish, Empress.'

'On another matter, I would very much like it if food could be sent out to the refugees.'

'Sorry, my lady?' Urtica replied, his eyes showing something like surprise. Or humour.

'I would like those people to be fed as best as possible. Even if just this one time. Think of it as a welcoming gift from their new Empress. Just because they're outside our gates and homeless does not mean they are not our responsibility.'

Urtica's expression remained calm, yet contained a glint of something she couldn't read. 'An
excellent
suggestion, Empress. I'll draft up orders to put to the Council, although it may take some time. I can see you have your mother's compassion.'

'Do I?' Rika's reply was full of melancholy.

'You do indeed. It was a great shame that she died in such . . . suspicious circumstances.'

'There was nothing suspicious about it.' She said the words before she had a chance to consider them.

'You think,' Urtica said, 'that you know who the killer was?'

Again, the ghosts returned.

As a child, one day when her father was looking for her mother, Rika told him that she was with one of the guards in the private gardens. Such an innocent comment. She didn't think he might see something sinister in her contact with this other man.

'It was suggested by many that my mother was having an affair with a soldier from the Dragoons, and somehow my father found out. Very soon her body was found in one of the lower levels of the city, lying flat on the streets. She bled to death, my father told us, tragically whilst on official business - whatever that may have been.'

Urtica gave a brief gasp. 'Surely you don't think your father was responsible for it?'

Rika remained silent. Yes, she did, but she wasn't going to let him know that.

Urtica pressed on. 'A price was offered to find her murderer, wasn't it? Forgive me, but this was quite some time ago. I'm sure the matter was thoroughly investigated.'

'The Inquisition found only more paperwork, chancellor.'

'It must have been a difficult time for everyone.'

'That was probably the year that father began to find it difficult to trust people, preferring his own company for great lengths of time. I remember that servants would take bottle after bottle of wine to him. As the months went by he was less fussy as to the quality, just that it was still coming. I suspect that was the start of his deterioration.'

'Perhaps,' Urtica agreed. 'The mind does suffer greatly under the stresses experienced in office. But I hope you will trust people in Villjamur a little more than he did.' A smile. 'Things are very different these days.'

*

A quarter of an hour later the chancellor sent a request for a garuda soldier. While he waited, Urtica began writing down a list of orders. Eventually one of the city's bird-soldiers entered the chamber. Urtica examined the creature, its white visage startling, even in the dreary light of the room.

You requested to see one of us?
the flight lieutenant signed.

Urtica tried to remember the appropriate words and the symbols, what the hand shapes meant, unused to having to read them himself. He was no mere soldier after all. 'Yes, take this order to the military garrison at Ule, Folke.' The chancellor handed the garuda a document. 'Show it to every captain you see. Should my note be destroyed en route, memorize these words: "At the command of Empress Jamur Rika and the Council of Villjamur, you are commanded to organize a front line facing across the northern and easternmost shores immediately adjacent to Varltung. A total of two thousand troops must be placed in key positions ready to receive long-ships that will set sail from all the military bases on Jokull. Mission summary: ensure total submission of the Varltung race with as few prisoners as possible." '

The garuda made a harsh squawking sound in his throat.
Sir, is this correct? You wish all of them to be killed?

'Who are you to question my orders?' Urtica could see the frustration evident on the bird's face. 'You've been bred specifically for military use, so don't let emotions get in the way. Anyway, we cannot afford to look after prisoners during such times as these.'

So be it
, the garuda signed, then gripped the scroll in his human-like hands.

Urtica eyed the tiny feathers that grew on the creature's arms, then looked him straight in the eye. 'Did you memorize those instructions?'

The garuda signed,
They are not easily forgettable, sir
.

'Good.' Urtica sat down on the chair before the maps and regarded the garuda casually. 'I'll send follow-up instructions, but the scroll you possess contains details of troop allocations and movements, and none of this is up for discussion. Every captain will understand and act accordingly. Now, go.' He waved him away with the back of his hand. The flight lieutenant twisted sharply, generating an unnatural breeze somehow with his body shape, then left the room.

Moments later, Urtica stepped over to a tapestry on the wall, peeled it back. A view of the city was unveiled, and he watched the garuda flying off across the spires and bridges, gliding out towards the east.

Urtica brooded on the predicament. He could tell no one of his negligible manipulations, of course - people just did not like to see the bigger picture. Because of the evidence provided by hired tribal thugs at Daluk Point, this Empire had now been offered an excuse to expand. The loss of a few Night Guard soldiers proved only that they weren't as wondrous as they liked to think they were, the posturing idiots. The Empire now had an opportunity to take more resources, more wood and food and ore, in defiance of the Freeze. They could claim another nation in the east, and this ancient Jamur Empire would become even more glorious.

That
was the bigger picture.

Starlight was all that was available to guide Brynd around this labyrinth of streets. They turned and twisted at various angles, and Brynd recalled how when he had first explored them years ago, he had been puzzled how they backed around on themselves, always leading him in the opposite direction. A shortcut here, a hidden path there, and you found yourself arriving at unusual junctures, some new territory not only in locational terms but even within your own psychology.

But tonight was different. He knew exactly where he was headed.

There was a permanent ethereal sheen to the stone from which the city was built, and to travellers it would look like some ghost construction, nothing real. He might have been walking in a dream.

He eventually found the right door, knocked, waited. It was answered by Papus herself, the leader of the Order of the Dawnir, clothed totally in grey, with only her face visible beneath her hood, which she held down as she stepped out into the moonlight. Under her chin, her medallion was just visible, though its symbol of an upright palm held no meaning for him.

'I received your message,' she whispered, her words turning to mist in the chilly air.

'Do you think you can help?' A sense of urgency had crept into his voice. Shifting weight from foot to foot in the cold, he rubbed his hands together impatiently.

'Possibly.' She glanced into the darkness behind, closed the door and stepped out into the alleyway.

They continued through the night, stepping over mounds of litter left at the rear of clustered housing, and it took them an hour to make their way to Caveside.