In those more directionless younger days, he went about the city screwing man after man. There were always places to find it, discreet clubs dark enough so married men could be hypocrites. He’d felt a discreet thrill at the fact that he could be killed simply for being what he was. It always made sucking a cock so much more exciting. Brynd had now settled on just one man – in personality a strange opposite that he needed more than chose, for reasons he never wanted to investigate. Perhaps it was the distinct lack of machismo in Kym, a quality that was so evidently postured during his time in the army.
‘I sold a painting and got decent money for it…’ Kym paused as he followed Brynd’s gaze around the room. ‘It wasn’t even very good, but taste is a matter of taste.’ He laughed at his own joke – something Brynd also found endearing. ‘So, I thought I’d give the place a new look. You could do with one, too.’
Kym walked towards Brynd and the two men held each other for a moment while their expressions relaxed into something more raw. Brynd inhaled and exhaled deeply, waiting for the moment, waiting for the sign in Kym’s eyes, and then they thrust their faces together, lips touching with a soft aggression, time falling apart.
Eventually Brynd withdrew with a sigh.
‘I hate you, just invading my evening like this.’ Kym ran his hands along Brynd’s arm, testing the ridges in his triceps. ‘I hate you, and love you. How long can you stay?’
‘Only for the night, and I’ve got to be up early. Then it’s not long until I leave the city again.’
‘I don’t want to know.’ Kym placed a finger to Brynd’s lips, and for a moment Brynd closed his eyes and tasted it.
Brynd parted Kym’s robe, reached out, without really thinking, to feel the warmth of his body, more of a familiar reaction than an intention. He moved his palms very slowly down his lover’s torso.
Kym shuddered. ‘Astrid, your hands are freezing.’
Brynd smiled. ‘Sorry.’ He continued until Kym became hard, then kissed his stomach. ‘I’ve got something a little warmer.’
Brynd fell to his knees, then took Kym in his mouth.
Heading upstairs was something Brynd always enjoyed, as it prolonged the moment and the anticipation. Brynd taking solace in one of these rare moments when he could unbuckle the stresses of his complex, dangerous existence. It would be another one of those special nights in which he engaged solely with Kym.
A soldier, a battle hero, and this was the most dangerous thing Brynd ever did.
EIGHT
Brynd was up with the sun, or what could be seen of it in this dank weather. Sometime after the bell tower had struck five, he spent a while poring over the maps of the Boreal Archipelago, Kym now a distant memory.
Then, leaving his chamber, he joined Chancellor Urtica for a simple breakfast in one of Balmacara’s dining halls. They were the only two there, but a fire had already been lit to warm the great chamber. Aged Imperial standards hung in strips in various states of decay. Some of them were over a thousand years old: faded icons of faded glory.
‘Please, commander,’ the chancellor began after a few mouthfuls, ‘tell me some more about what happened at Dalúk.’
At least the chancellor seemed more interested this time. Brynd carefully explained all that had happened, produced the arrow. He insisted it wasn’t so much who had attacked him that mattered, more the point of how they managed to find out about his expedition.
‘You suspect that we’ve a spy among us, commander?’ Urtica suggested.
‘I would say, chancellor, that it might be likely. The loyalties of certain people within Balmacara are complex. Councillors possess external connections that Emperor Johynn wouldn’t have been informed of. People with friends in distant places. If you call that the activities of a spy, then, yes, but it didn’t come from my mouth.’
‘You could make a politician yet, my dear fellow.’
Brynd didn’t respond, just ate another mouthful.
Urtica picked up the arrow again. ‘Varltung, you think?’
‘It’s certainly possible, judging from the rune marks, while the metal work is definitely something I’d associate with non-Empire craftsmanship. I think it’d be worth you showing it to some of the experts in the arsenal workshops.’
‘I’ll do that.’ Urtica looked from the arrow to Brynd, then back again. ‘Of course, if this was an attack mounted from Varltung, with the Freeze taking a firm grip, we may well need to brace ourselves for something more serious.’
‘You think?’
‘We must fear that the Varltungs are getting ready to seize Jamur territories,’ Urtica said.
‘You mean the islands nearby?’
‘We must be ready to defend them, yes. The most northern and easterly islands are always heavily manned, considering we see little war from there. But I suspect we must also be ready now to counter-attack. They have killed some of our best men, commander. We can’t allow this to go unpunished.’
‘Surely a campaign against the Varltungs is unnecessary – and likely to be unsuccessful, too? We’ve tried that before, several years ago. Decades, in fact. And what about the Freeze? You want to deploy all these men at a time when so many refugees are clamouring to get into our city?’
‘Exactly so,’ Urtica said. ‘We must strike them fast and hard, and in a sufficiently damaging way that makes sure they can’t counter-attack for the foreseeable future.’
‘I would think the ice age means all this is pointless?’
‘Not at all. Because of the Freeze, because of all these years of being locked away, we’ll need those islands kept safe for our future generations.’
Brynd said, ‘And you’re so confident that any of us will survive at all?’
‘Times will be very difficult, commander, and of course many may not survive. We don’t even know the potential extent of the icecap. But it is possible that people will indeed survive, and safeguarding those islands would guarantee them the best possible chance of survival after the ice retreats.’
Chancellor Urtica had donated a few luxuries and a considerable sum of money for the brief journey – all of ten Jamúns’ worth of the latter, broken into smaller coin: Sota, Lordil, Drakar. Brynd couldn’t help feeling a bit suspicious, but accepted these supplies courteously. Perhaps he is just trying to make me feel better after losing so many of my troops.
They set off out into the cold grey morning.
Two pterodettes arced in the sky, their shrill cries penetrating the quiet of the city. Behind them they left the ringing of the hours for morning worship, the smell of breakfasts from assorted dining halls.
Waiting at the front entrance to Balmacara were the four men he had chosen. Standing by their immaculately prepared horses, patiently waiting to leave. Staring up at the sky, Apium was sitting on a black gelding alongside a vast, gleaming carriage which the new Empress would travel in. The other three Night Guard soldiers, none of whom had been at Dalúk Point, were talking together quietly: fit, young, ideal for such a casual expedition. The two blond men were Sen and Lupus, twenty-six and twenty-two years old respectively. They could have been brothers, both lean, both tall. Both with those cutting blue eyes. Something almost wolf-like about their appearance. They had risen dramatically through the army because of their talent, and they respected Brynd above all others. Brynd valued Sen particularly since the lad was easily the best swordsman he had ever trained. He constantly worked on developing his skills, so Brynd would lay money on him being the finest swordsman in the Empire within a year or two.