Nights of Villjamur (45 page)

'So they're, what, after our bones or something?'

Dartun snorted a humourless laugh. 'That's a strong possibility. They've definitely taken people captive. And appear to be deliberately hunting mankind. Maybe even rumel, too, as we haven't seen any of them around either.'

'Bloody sick if you ask me,' Tuung muttered.

'That's life,' Dartun said, 'once you look at it from a viewpoint other than our own. They're just doing what this Empire has done for thousands of years to other cultures, and to other species. Pillaging their worlds for the sake of adding
value
to our own.' He added: 'And we call ourselves an enlightened civilization.'

'It's all right for you,' Tuung grumbled, running a hand over his head as if to highlight the signs of ageing.

The comment, casual though it was, struck Dartun hard as his gaze lingered on the woman's remains. Death was such a strange phenomenon because everyone went through life hiding from it, fearing it, yet it was the only inevitable outcome. But there was nothing inevitable about the way this woman had died, butchered in her moment of relaxation while lying in a warm bath on a cold day.

Life was never long enough, was it? He understood that better than most.

'Come on,' Dartun said at last, and began to lead them away from the disturbing scene. 'We now find the Realm Gates, we investigate my final theories, and only when we have done so successfully will we return.'

Dartun paused on the muddied doorstep, his breath clouding in front of his face. In that intense air he felt you could breathe the terror pervading that desolate town. You could feel it seeping deep in your bones, into your blood.

*

They rode away from the dead town towards their agreed meeting point with other members of the Order of the Equinox. Arriving early, they had to wait there for two days in the freezing cold. Red sunlight forced its way through the fat clouds that obscured these vast northern skies. Everything around them seemed more capacious - or rather as humans they felt smaller compared with the empty environment. Life out here was much harsher than in the city. Nature dominated. Ridges of hillsides sloped steeply, snow slanted perpetually across your vision. It was humbling. Snow-buried tundra grasses stretched for leagues in every direction, punctuated occasionally by thickets of larix or betula. Sometimes a wolf would stray past in the first or last moments of the day, imposing its long shadow over the snow, while overhead the cry of birds - terns, gulls, falcons, and nearer the coast, gannets - would add an eerie chorus that only heightened the pervasive loneliness.

Dartun, however, was grateful for this isolation.

*

They had almost begun to lose track of the days when Verain spotted three longships approaching up Tineag'l's western coast, almost veiled in the spray of the surf as it surged on the rough seas. That morning had brought a stronger wind, and with it the weather had taken a more severe turn.

'Dartun, they're here,' she announced, rousing him as he reclined against a tree trunk, his boots sprawled out in front of him.

'You sure it's not the Empire's forces?' he demanded, glancing to the tents in which Todi and Tuung were still sleeping, then over to the pack of dogs who were huddled for shelter beside a windbreak.

'They carry no Imperial banners. And look there.' She pointed as a bright flash of purple light streaked up into the cloud base, like reverse lightning.

'It's them all right,' Dartun agreed. He paused briefly to embrace her and kiss her on both cheeks. Almost wincing, her reaction indicated she wasn't that comfortable with his closeness. She was like this from time to time - why then did she stick with him? Could she not leave him because of fear?

Dartun proceeded towards the tent, pulling back the flap to kick Todi and Tuung awake. 'They're here. Get ready.'

The two men groaned. 'Not another freezing bloody day,' Tuung complained.

'Indeed.' Dartun reached into one of his bags, drew out a brass tube, stepped outside, and set it in the snow for stability. He took off his gloves and made some subtle adjustments to the dials, then lunged for safety towards Verain as a thick bolt of purple light burst upwards with an explosive roar.

Dartun turned his attention to the ships once again. The vessels lurched lackadaisically, like old marine beasts, and were steered shoreward to the source of the signal.

*

The four cultists and their equipment were pulled down by the sled to the shore with the sleet now driving straight into their faces. They arrived at a rock-littered beach. Dartun dismounted, and stepped over to inspect the boats towering above him in the shallows. Originally hijacked by political dissidents, these three imposing boats had once been based in a military port further south. Military runework was carved into the hulls. On board, several members of the Order of the Equinox were standing ready, looking down at their leader.

'Sele of Jamur!' Dartun shouted above the smash of the waves. 'You couldn't have arrived a moment too soon. Where are the rest?'

The answer to that question came soon enough. Within the bell, five more vessels of equal dimensions had arrived, lining up alongside each other in a haphazard fashion. They had voyaged in small groups, not wanting to draw attention, and had gathered further down the coast to make the last lap to this neglected corner of a fading world. Gangplanks were thrown down, and soon around fifty Equinox cultists began disembarking.

And the undead were unloaded.

Two hundred, male and female, and human and rumel, in varying states of decay came shambling through the water to reach the rock-shore. Their arms swinging by their sides, they seemed unaffected by the harshness of the weather, the grey tint of exposed flesh showing through what little clothing they possessed.

They marched in neat rows, this militia, to stand in several lines against the upper shore, their rags fluttering like crippled banners in the breeze. Unprepossessing as they looked, Dartun knew he needed this protection. Papus might come after him even here, and he did not know what lay waiting for him the other side of the gates.

Packs of dogs were fetched from the ships, ripping at the cold air in excitement. Following them came yet more of the undead, this time carrying equipment, parts of sleds to be assembled, weaponry and relics and minor armour. Dartun was pleased at such efficiency. This counted for nearly all of the Order of the Equinox, leaving only a handful of cultists back in Villjamur. He felt much safer now, the mere presence of his kin lifting his morale.

Throughout the morning he briefed every cultist in turn on what had been discovered on the island.

Brutal killings.

Alien species.

The grotesque filleting of the victims.

Theories were discussed, methods and solutions bandied about, but one thing was certain: they had to move quickly so as to be prepared for any attack. Dartun stressed the importance of marching across the ice sheets to find their new enemy's location. He was convinced it would be at the Realm Gates, which represented a new level of knowledge entirely.

Later, dog teams began dragging the cultists - a bizarre train of magicians - along the coastline, the army of the undead jogging along to the rear, all heading now for the northern shores. There they would venture out across the ice.

To the possibility of new worlds.

The garuda flight lieutenant collapsed on the tiled floor of one of the highest-level rooms in Balmacara, a misshapen heap of ruffled feathers and shattered armour. Blood speckled his white facial plumage, and his arms quivered as he tried to regain an upright position. Today, Chancellor Urtica couldn't be bothered with such drama.

'What's your news, flight lieutenant?' Urtica resumed his meal of oysters and mussels as he regarded the sprawling form of the bird-soldier dispassionately.

The garuda crawled a little nearer to the fire, leaned up against the wall of the hearth so that the flame cast quick-moving shadows across his sharp features. Urtica looked up again.

Forgive me, chancellor
, the soldier began in hand-talk.
It has been a long flight from the war zone.

'Get on with it.' Urtica motioned with his fork for the soldier to continue.

Chancellor, I fear I bring bad news.
The garuda's gaze darted about with fear.

'Well, I assume our occupation of Varltung has not been easy then?'

The garuda made a strange sound.
Our forces never found the opportunity to advance by longship as planned. It appears that our invasion force was defeated by the ice. The army therefore had to progress by foot, but the ice was too weak to support them, sir, it collapsed under their weight. Many of them died during the night in the freezing waters. After that, local tribesmen came light-footed from across the island of Varltung, but our commanders would not accept their aid.

Although inwardly fuming at this devastating news, Chancellor Urtica managed to maintain an air of calm. 'Tell me of these losses.'

We have only a few hundred men left from an initial force of four thousand.

'Only a few hundred,' Urtica mumbled, finally rising from his chair. This was an embarrassment beyond belief. He approached the hearth and reached for a metal poker, began to slash at the fire, sending sparks showering upwards. As the overseer of military assignments, this was an extreme and personal humiliation. Men could easily be replaced, couldn't they, but such a failure would haunt his reputation eternally.

'Well, we must take that island no matter what,' the chancellor said. 'I will
not
have the Jamur Empire suffer defeat. I will not allow it. Whatever it takes, it must be ours, d'you hear?'

He wafted the poker around the garuda's head as he spoke, but he wondered why he bothered to lecture a dumb, valueless soldier. He wondered then of what message the Council would have to issue to the people. He could see what to put on the news pamphlets: a Varltung massacre of our brave fighters in the ice, a vicious terrorist atrocity, savage barbarism on our democratic collection of nations . . . Such sentiments, he realized, would even provide an excuse for an all-out campaign to control more resources during the Freeze.

'Get some rest, flight lieutenant,' Urtica ordered, resuming an illusion of calm. 'Soon I'll be expecting you and your fellows to fly out from the city with instructions for reorganizing every soldier we can spare. Soon, everyone available will be marching eastwards for a concerted attack on those Varltung bastard tribes. There'll be no prisoners taken - I want every adult male on that island killed, every boy decapitated. Towns to be burned to the ground. So go rest now. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for you.'

Yes, chancellor.
The bird-soldier pushed himself fully upright, then staggered out of the room.

As soon as he had gone Urtica hurled the poker across the chamber. Two servants came in to investigate, but Urtica dismissed them with insults.

This military loss was almost as embarrassing as losing Imperial territory. What would people think of him - and of the Empire he now piloted?

Just at that moment, in the midst of his paranoia, Councillor Delboitta entered the room. In her skinny old hands was a document that might at least relieve his stress temporarily. He studied her gaunt features, those prominent cheekbones, highlighted by the fire light. A few strands of grey hair tinged her otherwise black hair.

'Chancellor Urtica.' She spoke in a crisp, precise way, a woman who made you listen carefully to every syllable. She had heaved the Quercus wood door shut behind her, leaving the two of them in total privacy. 'Magus Urtica - may I call you so here?'

'Yes, but only quietly,' Urtica said. 'Even the walls have ears - this is a government building after all . . .'

She was a handsome woman of nearly fifty years whose husband, also an Ovinist, had died three years ago.

'What d'you have for me, then?' He guided her to the table. 'Some oysters?'

'Thank you, but I've just eaten.' She unrolled the parchment well away from the food, then held it in place with a couple of wine glasses. They both leaned in close, little telltale suggestions in their breathing. So he hoped.

She indicated first the ancient runework inscribed on the document, and the correct stamps to indicate the authenticity of it. It was an order, ultimately, that would confirm the ascension of Urtica to Emperor. It made Rika out to be a mass murderer. This would then be delivered to the starving refugees in the form of largesse. They would hopefully die in large numbers, and cease to be a damn burden. All traces of Imperial failures: gone.

'Perfect,' Urtica breathed, allowing his gaze to drift down the ancient letter-craft, the runes and seals so true to the Villjamur standard legal documents that it seemed impossible to know it was forged.

'When will you get their names on this?' Councillor Delboitta looked up at him wide-eyed, as if she worshipped him and would do anything for him - or at least he liked to believe that.

Urtica wanted as few people as possible knowing he would forge the signature himself, but she was Ovinist. She was on his side. 'I'll add their signatures on this before the sun sets tomorrow. I've been spending some time studying their handwriting, so it shouldn't take too long. Then I'll present it to the Council.' Urtica's pride swelled at his own ingenuity.