City of Ruin

TWENTY-THREE

'Individual from the Bloods – claimed he was their leader. Decision to be made on bolstering troop numbers. Said something about your preferences in men? Possibly staffing arrangements. Details of locations overleaf.'

Brynd had received the message earlier that day, telling him to meet the gang leader, Malum, outside the Victory Hole tavern at sunset. For a long time afterwards he held the piece of paper in his hands, staring into the distance.

At the specified time, he was loitering in the freezing cold by the quayside. The streets were again being treated with solution to flush away any remaining ice while the dreary evening skies filled with yet more snow. Lights from the bars could be seen tracing an arc along the rim of the harbour, but out towards the north, where the invasion would originate, there was nothing but darkness. The Victory Hole itself was becoming increasingly rowdy as traders and fishermen began lining up against the bar to talk shop in the half-light. Men, for the most part, shuffled past him huddled from the cold, many of them not wanting to make eye contact with a soldier, as if he was a bad omen. Brynd was fine with that.

Soon a hooded man with stubble shuffled up to Brynd. Expensive cut of clothing, thick grey woollen top, flashily tailored boots, the red mask: he could tell it was Malum.

'I got your message,' Brynd said.

'I see you got a flair for stating the obvious, albino.'

'You've reached a decision about your men helping the city in the coming war?' Brynd asked.

'I have. Neither the Bloods nor the Screams will join in this charade.'

Come on, you selfish fucker. 'You realize that the city may fall because of such a decision? Because of such cowardice?'

'Speak to me about cowardice?'

'The fall of Villiren would be the start of something darker across the entire Archipelago. We've already lost one island, and one by one they'll all fall. And if people just stand back it'll happen a lot sooner.'

'Problem is,' Malum declared, 'that none of us wants to fight alongside a man like you.'

'A soldier of the Empire?'

'Someone who's not right. Not natural.'

'Not sure I follow you, sir.'

Malum then explained about having the commander tracked, about him being spotted seeking out the company of other men for a fuck – about having that male prostitute located, and a confession made in front of witnesses, before the man was executed with a crossbow bolt through the skull.

This conversation was so surreal that Brynd's heart rate tripled in an instant. As word by word followed, he retreated further into himself, panicking that his secret should be exposed in such a careless manner – to this thug of all people. Even if it was only one man's word against another, that signed confession might destroy his career.

As Brynd's hand moved to his sword, Malum snarled, 'Fuck you think you're doing? Reckon you can kill me here, you can think again. I've fifty men waiting within sight, and if you make a move they'll hunt you down despite how fancy a fighter you think yourself. Anyway, with that confession released publicly, we'd ruin you and your whole fucking army.'

It might have been a bluff, all of this, but as Brynd's military mind reduced the situation to probabilities and chances, he realized quickly that the odds were not in his favour. 'What do you want?' he growled.

'Now you're talking,' Malum whispered, in a more accommodating tone. 'You'll provide me with several thousand Jamuns. Say, enough to buy most of the city? A different city, of course, since this one might not even be here in a few weeks.'

'Why threaten the one man offering a hope of defending this place? I could save hundreds of thousands of lives.'

Tough to tell behind that mask, but it seemed the thug appeared to consider this question for a while.

Brynd listened to the boats tapping against one another in the wind, providing an endless, gentle drumbeat that could drive a man insane.

'I'm a real man,' Malum grunted finally, 'someone the likes of you just wouldn't understand.' He gave some curt instructions about where to leave the money, warning him to come alone or else. With a final sneer, he then faded into fog.

Brynd felt a perfect stillness surrounding him. His world had just imploded.

*

Brynd poked his head into the officers' quarters where several of his own men were slumped in chairs, either reading or playing cards at a table under a large map of the city. 'A word, lieutenant, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Of course, commander.' Nelum set down his book, glanced at the others, who smirked as if he was in trouble. Someone joked, 'Lavatory cleaning for the lieutenant,' and the others laughed.

He bounded to his feet to follow Brynd.

Every footstep was loud, every breath clear and sharp as they moved along a corridor of the Citadel, heading outside to one of the walkways positioned behind the long crenellated battlement.

Late in the evening, and both moons were concealed by cloud. Only a few guards from the Dragoons were stationed up here, long-range archers with precise vision, the green and brown of their uniforms barely noticeable in this dim light. They saluted as the Night Guard soldiers passed them, curt and respectful, before returning their focus to the northern horizon.

Eventually Brynd and Nelum paused by a turret at the eastern edge of the Citadel, staring into the black distance. Taverns down below were emptying, with drunken songs and harmless screams from women.

'Make of this information what you will, lieutenant,' Brynd announced.

'Go on.' Nelum's expression was sincere, and Brynd waited as long as he could.

'Is everything all right, commander?'

He told him what had happened in succinct nuggets of information, being as discreet as he could, but ultimately coming clean about one fact: he was being blackmailed over a rumour that could corrupt everything they were working towards.

'I see the predicament,' Nelum said. 'Can I enquire as to the nature of this rumour?'

The question lingered in the air.

Brynd said, 'His accusations are of a personal nature.'

'Which are?'

'Suggestions of my affiliations with – I don't need to tell you it's utter rubbish of course – other men. Personally I suspect it's merely an excuse for his gang not to fight alongside us.' He gave a confident laugh. 'But the problem is how to deal with things should such lies destabilize all we've been working towards. The guy is phenomenally well connected, and controls a large number of men.'

Nelum's face remained expressionless, until Brynd could no longer bear to look at him. Rubbing his hands for warmth, he strolled a few paces away.

Eventually, his lieutenant spoke tentatively. 'Such things… well, they happen in the armies, don't they? I mean to say, that men bed with men when they're abroad, so I've heard… Nothing is ever said of it the next day.'

'I know that, you know that – nearly every soldier who's been signed up for more than a year knows that it happens,' Brynd growled, glaring at Nelum.

Nelum's silence was intense.

'These rumours are serious, enough to destroy the good name of the Night Guard, and that could rupture all our plans and defences.'

The lieutenant remained utterly expressionless, his breath clouding before his face. 'It has not happened yet, has it? I say we take this man out.'

Brynd said, 'He told me there are others who know about it, and that if he disappears, someone else will spread the false news.'

'The fellow might be bluffing.'

'But what do you think about it?' Brynd turned to face him again, eager to gauge a reaction. It seemed important for any kind of response. 'I know you're a man with a passion for the Jorsalir teachings that don't exactly welcome such doings. I need to ensure these lies don't get out.'

'None of my business what a soldier does in his or her spare time.' Brisk tones, bitter feelings – all suggesting that he knew Brynd was lying. 'You're known as one of the ablest fighters in the service, and we all have to persevere despite whatever has been impugned.'

Brynd's control snapped and he slammed his lieutenant against the wall, glaring. Nelum didn't flinch. The two soldiers were assessing each other, waiting for the other's next move. 'They are rumours, OK? I told you only because I valued your fucking advice.'

The sloshing of the water down in the harbour seemed to bring Brynd back to his senses. He released his grip, muttering an apology, and rested his hands on the parapet, facing the coast.

'Indeed. We should therefore prepare ourselves for different scenarios,' Nelum continued, ignoring the incident, 'but I think we should counter by circulating rumours of our own that there's a move afoot to smear the honour of senior soldiers. We could suggest that it comes from enemy agents working for the invasion force, in order to weaken our defences.'

'Good thinking. I don't want to let this business interfere with our plans. Fucking hell, I've a city to save.'

'You've a city to save?'

Things were happening in the gaps between their sentences. 'We've,' Brynd corrected himself quickly. 'You think I should face Malum. If anything then happens to me, then I want you to take my place. I'll want you to succeed me as commander of the Empire's armies. I can assemble the appropriate documentation, but how would you feel about such a role?'

Shit, did he say all that now simply to obscure his guilt, to win the man over? Brynd's mind began bubbling with paranoia.

'Sir… of course,' Nelum breathed. For a moment this normally verbose individual couldn't seem to find words. 'It's overwhelming, and an honour… but you're still here, still the most senior officer outside of Villjamur.'

And don't you forget it. 'Thank you for your time, lieutenant.'

*

'Oh, sure, totally fuck that. We'll just take the money and kill him, right?' Malum grunted. 'I mean, simple plans are always the most effective.'

JC laughed aloud, then the others – ten in all of the Bloods – joined in. There was a clashing of tankards, and then the spirit of the night subsided into low-level conversations.

Slouching on the chair in the corner of the tavern, Malum sharpened his messer blade on an oiled whetstone, while others began to make jokes in the dim candlelight. They were all going to be there, all ready to butcher the commander if he did not come up with the cash.

Butcher him, even if he did.