Their bones becoming Villjamur’s bones.
Brynd discovered that after he’d gone, news of the Emperor’s death had sent a slow shockwave through these corridors. Councillors had flapped around the place, murmuring portentous utterings, but all the time adding to a sense of unease. Brynd himself had noticed this malaise grow in the short time since his return. It manifested in a general lack of confidence, in an escalating mood of fear. But perhaps this mood was exacerbated by the coming of the ice age.
An initial ceremony would take place as the red sun rose. Then as the sun set, Rika would be proclaimed Empress, therefore finishing a day to change history – or at least the history books. Brynd had stationed two soldiers from the Night Guard outside Eir’s and Rika’s chambers, whilst he himself liaised with Chancellor Urtica, at that politician’s request. The two men met in the War Chamber usually reserved for discussions on battle tactics, and perhaps this was the first indication to the commander that something was wrong.
Brynd opened the door to find Urtica standing at the far end of a massive stone table, his back to a spitting fire. No tapestries garlanded this room, only lanterns and examples of ancient weaponry on the walls. As he entered Brynd realized the conversation wouldn’t be going his way.
‘Commander, do step inside and close the door. Hell of a draught coming in.’
Brynd shut the door and approached, his steps clicking in the awkward silence. ‘What’s the problem, chancellor?’
‘War, commander,’ Chancellor Urtica sighed. ‘I fear it’s war.’
‘And why so? I’ve been away for less than a month, so what can have arisen? Surely we should be looking for peace at all costs in these distressing times?’
‘Of course, but our experts have now analysed the arrow that you retrieved from Dalúk Point. It was indeed a Varltung shaft.’
‘Really?’ Brynd said, his eyes narrowing. ‘But I still don’t see why the Varltungs would make a raid on us.’
‘Yes, well, these are strange days. Furthermore I’ve intelligence from our garudas suggesting that the Varltungs have planned more raids – now that our city is at its weakest. So I was forced to put some defensive plans in motion after you left. Troops are moving across the Empire as we speak.’
‘What intelligence exactly?’ Brynd said. Were the city’s forces already marching to war without his knowledge?
‘Not only from garudas, but rumours from various outposts. So I have initiated troop movements for a coastal raid on the Varltung nation. I’ll be using cultists from the Order of Dawnir to help, too, as I want to stop any chance of our outlying islands being assaulted after our city closes its doors. It is a purely defensive tactic, and we aim to minimize casualties, and work with them once they submit.’
‘And you’re absolutely certain of this strategy? Surely, as commander of the armies, I should be allowed some say in this decision. Surely I should have some role in this?’ It appeared that Urtica had already made up his mind even before Brynd had left to fetch Jamur Rika. Now it wouldn’t surprise Brynd to learn that soldiers were already dying.
‘That’s certainly true, and I will need your agreement. The Council felt constrained to pass an urgent order of war in your absence. The Empress must be briefed immediately. More Dragoons and Regiments of Foot are currently being readied, but there’s now another threat, for which I think your personal attention is more essential.’
Brynd analysed every word that Urtica uttered, scanning for the gaps in what he said to find the real story. Being chief commander of military operations appeared to mean little to these politicians, these articulate men who had no direct experience of combat. They just rolled the dice from a safe distance, not understanding the real costs in terms of resources and emotion.
Urtica said, ‘You were aware of your next task, I think, even before you returned here. Those killings on our islands further north – on Tineag’l to be precise.’
‘The mining island?’
‘We’ve now had two reports of large-scale massacres there. Towns have been wiped out, and so far hundreds have died – possibly thousands. I sent a garuda to investigate and he hasn’t returned yet – that was some time ago now.’ Urtica reached across the table for a parchment, passed it to Brynd. ‘This, however, came through to us.’
Brynd read the message.
To Emperor Johynn, and the Council of Villjamur
I must alert you to a potential crisis as we’ve had reports of terrible events occurring on Tineag’l. Many have been fleeing atrocities of an unknown nature, that quite frankly leaves me to be astounded. There have been severe numbers of disappearances on the island, and interviews have been held with those who have fled. There is something killing whole communities, cleansing entire cities and towns. I estimate from listening to those escapees, and by studying old maps, that tens of thousands may no longer exist. It is rumoured that a host of many thousand refugees are fleeing from the north on foot, and it will take them some weeks to reach the south tip of Tineag’l. But when they reach it they will sail to Villiren. And, good sirs, we can’t cope with such quantities in our city. Already we’ve local people seeking shelter from the ice, so what is Lutto Fendor to do? I request you send aid, in whatever form possible, to this city and investigate the atrocious incidents on Tineag’l before this evil spreads here to the island of Y’iren. We are but a humble trading city, so we are not equipped to resist, or indeed help the refugees fleeing these killings. We need protection. Send it quick!
Your servant, and in the name of Bohr and Astrid, and of the Jamur Empire and Council.
Lutto Fendor, Portreeve of Villiren, on the island of Y’iren
Brynd glanced twice over the parchment, noticing it possessed the mark of Jorsalir, a discreet symbol of the moons in each corner, behind the star of the Empire. That meant it was official all right, blessed by the priest, but Brynd tended to ignore those kinds of blessings. He grunted. So Fat Lutto actually does his job, for once. He handed it back to Urtica. ‘Yes, this is bad news all right. You wish me to assemble what exactly?’
‘I think at least a few units of Dragoons, plus a cultist from the Order of the Dawnir should suffice. And the rest of your Night Guard, of course. But I’m not sure we can spare much more than that just yet if we’re to organize a proper defence against the Varltung nation. Remember, they won their freedom six hundred years back, they’ve defeated the Empire’s forces once. And they’ve enough population to furnish a few hundred thousand fighting men if they can unite all their tribes. I would like to make them… submit before the Freeze becomes too severe. So I’m leaving this matter in your capable hands.’ Urtica was silent for a moment as he contemplated some of the maps lying in front of him.
‘You don’t think this is a more important issue than the Varltung operation?’
‘You know very well what Lutto’s like. He can be… inaccurate in what he says. He’s fat, he’s lazy, he’s a gambler, and a criminal.’
‘But he’s in charge of an entire city and he’s panicking,’ Brynd said.
‘In charge because he rigs the voting. Anyway, I think that given the information so far, the greatest issue lies on the eastern fronts. Should you need more men, you can send for reinforcements. Oh, incidentally, that Dawnir friend of yours has been grumbling about wanting to go with you.’
‘Jurro?’ Brynd said, puzzled. ‘Why does he need to come anyway?’
‘Why not take him with you? The activity might finally jog his blasted memory, and then we can get some useful information out of him. I mean what’s the use of an Ancient if he doesn’t have memory? I don’t want him just rotting away reading books for another several generations and only have the benefit of his misery to put up with. Take him with you, let him see a bit more of the world. Before the ice sets in.’