‘Well, this one certainly appears dead.’ Papus replaced the lantern on the wall. ‘Yes. Quite dead,’ she repeated.
The three soldiers returned the draugr to its cell, then returned upstairs out of earshot.
‘I don’t think it’s actually a draugr,’ Papus said, ‘not in the true sense, at least.’
‘No?’ Brynd folded his arms expectantly.
‘No, I think these have been brought back to life by other means.’
‘But how?’ Brynd asked. ‘And by whom?’ He watched Papus, and could see the confusion registering on her face. It struck him then that she was clueless. For someone of such advanced knowledge, that was alarming.
‘I don’t know how exactly, but I’ve my suspicions about who is responsible.’
‘Who?’
‘Dartun Súr, of the Order of the Equinox.’
Brynd was surprised at the answer, a cultist so close to Villjamur. ‘He keeps a very low profile normally, doesn’t he?’
‘He does, yes, but this is very much like something he’d be capable of. I’ve heard rumours of him being able to preserve life; though that sort of thing isn’t common knowledge, not even in our cultist circles.’
Pretentious cow. You’re only human, like the rest of us. Brynd said, ‘Well, your circles aren’t our circles, Papus, so please enlighten me.’
Papus appeared to ignore his sarcasm. She was probably too concerned with feeling as unknowledgeable on the subject as he was. ‘Well, this isn’t right if these creatures are being used to… kill.’
‘And once they start killing, the bastards are difficult to stop,’ Brynd muttered. ‘The ones who attacked us had to be chopped in pieces, and burned, just to be sure. If it’s really your friend Dartun, then he’s breeding them to kill.’
‘You think we’re all friends?’ Papus asked. ‘You should know better, commander. Anyway, I suspect he’s up to something serious at the moment.’
‘Something I should know about?’
‘No, this is strictly a cultist issue, so it can be solved by us alone, commander.’
Brynd’s tone became more menacing. ‘I know you sects have had your fights and bickering in the past, but so far you’ve always kept it to yourselves – that’s fine. Now, you’re affecting the rest of us, and you’re endangering the lives of Empire soldiers. And Bohr knows what you’re doing to ordinary citizens out in the country.’
‘I’m not doing anything,’ Papus snapped. ‘There’s some other trickery being misused, involving some ancient relic no doubt. But I now thank you for making me aware of it.’ She turned away.
‘What, you’re just going?’ Brynd said, surprised at how annoyed she was getting.
‘And what did you honestly expect me to do, commander?’ she said, frowning. ‘I’ve told you, this is some ritual I have no experience of.’
‘Can’t you help us at all?’ Brynd said. ‘I’ve got to leave the city shortly, and I’ll be out of Villjamur for some time. I’d prefer to know that something was being done meanwhile to investigate this matter, because I’ve no idea if we’ll come across any more of these things. This lot may seem pretty docile, but they can transform into savage killers. They’re not to be taken lightly.’ He grasped one of the bars as he gazed at the draugr again. ‘There are too many strange things happening these days. It’s as if this ice brings with it a certain madness.’
‘I’ll do what I can, Commander Lathraea, but not for your sake, or even the city’s. This business has much larger implications, if Dartun really has gained access to the elements of life and death. There are things that could change the world as we know it. Think on it, commander. If people can be brought back to life in such quantities, think of the implications.’ Papus drew her cloak around her and walked silently up the stairs.
TWENTY-SIX
Given all the hysteria of a new Empress arriving in Villjamur, Eir had hoped for a better night of celebrations. It was now days after her father’s funeral, but this final evening of celebrations had been talked about and anticipated so highly by everyone from councillors to servants. People in the city had been looking for anything to hang their good mood on given the assault of ice, and Rika’s new position had certainly offered them that.
But as the evening’s festivities died away, Eir found herself seated at a table being lectured on how the general behaviour of ladies in Villjamur had diminished of late. Lord Dubek was a cousin’s stepfather, a gruff old man dressed in the same dreary blue garments he always wore. Though nearing fifty, he was rumoured to have a keen eye for younger women. As his vision drifted across her exposed shoulders, she pulled up her green velvet gown and glowered at him.
‘Thing is,’ he said, swilling a cup of red wine, ‘we live in an age with little war. Your generation is ruined by that. You’ve all grown up without hardly ever seeing real fear in your parents’ eyes…’ He brushed down his moustache, and leaned in a little closer.
As she looked across the hall for more interesting company, her vision settled on Randur Estevu, her instructor. He had nestled himself in among a group of ladies of Balmacara, regaling them with some improbable anecdote, no doubt. Amid the ripples of female laughter, he stood, and it was easy to see how familiar he was with them, touching their arms, nodding in earnest at whatever they said to him. A lingering look, kisses on the hand, smiles as choreographed as his dance.
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.
That man possessed more than an air of mystery, especially since he often went sloping off into the city late at night, Caveside of all places, and what could he possibly want there? Yet he was a good instructor of both swordsmanship and dancing, and Eir realized she had learned a lot from him, even though she would hate to admit it.
The gaggle of ladies dispersed, leaving Randur alone with one other, the Lady Iora, a woman twice his age. Eir frowned at this. Although Lady Iora was an attractive woman, there was no longer any spring in her step. A bad narrative raced just behind those sad eyes. It was well known that Lady Iora was a recent widow, her husband having been found dead beneath a naked, if somewhat mortified, servant girl back in Villiren. It was a matter of heart, they said, or rather its failure, and despite the irony, Lady Iora had then sold her husband’s estate, having decided to settle in one of those fine old apartments on one of Villjamur’s higher levels before the Freeze took a grip.
Eir watched with growing suspicion as Randur clasped the ageing beauty’s hands in his own.
He leaned towards her as if telling her rare and private things. She nodded and they both stood up to make for a discreet exit.
On a sudden instinct Eir decided to follow.
Having grabbed a black cloak, Jamur Eir stood in the shadows outside Randur’s room. Only moments ago she had witnessed Lady Iora, in dishevelled clothing, walk off down the corridor.
Eir didn’t know why she was still waiting here, as though expecting something else – and why was she not asleep, like everyone else in Balmacara? Why was she, a princess of the blood, hovering outside some island boy’s chamber? She didn’t even like him that much. Sure, he was good to look at, in some vaguely feminine way, but his arrogance diminished any real attraction: the way he’d strut – not walk, but strut – around the halls like he owned the place, like he deserved to live here.
Maybe she was interested in his life, because, after all, Eir had spent her entire childhood being protected, housed in this place with guards to ensure no one might hurt her. This was all well and good, but it was certainly tedious at times. She remembered when she and Rika used to occupy themselves playing games along these corridors, while their parents would argue. She had seen very little of the far-flung regions her family governed. Dragged around, heavily protected by her teachers, to look at boring old buildings, there was little chance to meet men, and those she did encounter always seemed too petrified to talk to her.