City of Ruin

F ORTY-THREE

Under pressure from the soon-expected sea landing, the meeting of the cultists with the commander was brisk and volatile, with an explosion of demands and requests for help.

As they discussed detail, Beami watched him, the albino, brooding over every statement in agonizing slowness, his elegant fingers tapping on the table as if to deepen any silences. She wished she possessed a relic for freezing time in order to get things done more quickly in real time. Commander Lathraea was proving unhelpful, as she had expected. The army were to have total control. The army would dictate everything.

The army this. The army that.

The other cultists in this emergency unit were seven men and one other woman. Originally congregated from various minor orders, two of which she'd never even heard of, they were all keen if not completely proficient.

Two of the men were middle-aged, one with grey hair and the other with none, and she felt immediately that they were powerful, despite their seeming unwillingness to take the threat of war all that seriously. They gave their names – well, one of them did: Abaris and Ramon.

Ramon had a look of psychopathic intensity about him, the kind of glint in his bright eyes that suggested he could be friendly one moment, but would have no trouble in slitting your throat the next. Stocky, with perspiration glistening on his bald head, he stank of stale sex and bad magic. His colleague, Abaris, chubby and moustached, was the only one of the pair who would ever speak. Only in the silences did she notice how Ramon had one blue eye, one brown.

Abaris made a minimal yet bold claim. 'We might', he said, 'be able to do things with the dead.'

He marched his fingers across the tabletop as if to suggest their intentions.

Necromancy… Is that what they do?

And how exactly would that be of any help? Beami had never heard of these people, but the more macabre cultists did tend to isolate themselves.

'Which is fine,' she replied to the weirdly light-hearted figure of Abaris, 'but what about making the enemy dead in the first place?'

'Lass, we'll require a measure of time before we can go into action. And then…'

Ramon did nothing but grin, yet she noticed the creases in his face, evidence of years of almost blissful anguish. The two of them frightened her with their deep serenity. They possessed a kind of confidence that overwhelmed her.

The conversation lurched back and forth between the commander and the cultists. She did not want her kind to be treated merely as weapons. They were people who thought and reacted carefully and could use relics to a devastating effect – if they were allowed a little freedom.

Messengers frequently interrupted them with updates on the invasion fleet heading towards the city. Every new one of them left the room feeling darker, as if a death in the family had been announced. And how many thousands of those would there soon be? The increasing stress was obvious on the albino's face. Frequently he would rise from his chair and circle the room as if no one else was present, and occasionally he'd catch the eye of Ramon, who would smile back at him in a macabre fashion.

As Beami peered out of the window trying to see where the enemy were currently, her vision drifted over the docks and the front line of fortifications, the makeshift barricades and the archers stationed in windows and other vantage points. Would they really be enough?

*

An idea came to mind and Beami announced it to the room.

Abaris clapped his hands. 'Lass, that's proper genius, that is. Me and Ramon will wait for you to finish up, before we can make our immediate contribution.' Ramon's head began to rock back and forth, his eyes firmly closed as if he was contacting someone outside the room via some ethereal means. Abaris adjusted his tweed robe and leaned in to await a further reaction from the room.

A murmur of approval rippled towards her.

The albino slumped forward in his chair, resting his chin on his hands, and he stared at her. He didn't seem particularly unenlightened in his attitude towards her, but did he really believe she was capable, this mere woman? She had been used to receiving that response throughout her life, and had learned to suppress her frustrations. Brynd said, 'We could defend the docks with our forces stationed on the quayside to prevent the enemy getting into the city.'

'Let them just come ashore, then I can rid you of many more than your army could ever hope to do in one attack.' Beami couldn't wait any longer. If she was going to aid his defence of the city she had to do it immediately. 'Leave it to me, please. I only need half an hour. Send the order to call the soldiers back from the front line and make them stand two streets away from the waterfront instead. They'll be safe there, and meanwhile I can focus on the-'

'One hour and the invasion fleet will be arriving here by that very same entry point into the city,' Brynd snapped.

'Exactly,' she smiled. 'So trust me.'

With a rush of emotions she fled the room, hearing him say, 'You have just one chance to earn that trust, do you hear me?'

*

She burst out through the fog, this cultist on a lively mare, heading out through the back of the Citadel. Gathered civilian foot soldiers looked up half astonished at her thundering through their mass.

Out into the city, her route took her the long way round, due to the military blockades and the thousands of troops readied for engagement. Under the shadow of the Onyx Wings, along the fringe of Althing, the Shanties, and straight towards Port Nostalgia, with a bag of modified Brenna-based relics slung across one shoulder, and suddenly Lupus was riding behind her, on a muscular black mare, still in his Night Guard uniform, a bow strapped across his back.

'Why're you following me?' she shouted.

'Commander's orders. He doesn't quite trust you, I'm afraid.'

'Well, he should,' she replied.

'Beami, wait a moment.'

She sought to curb her horse and was surprised at how quick its response was. 'What?'

'Have you ever killed anyone before?'

She shook her head. Only then did she realize what she was taking on.

'You want to prove things to a world of men, I know,' Lupus said, his voice carefully controlled. He was on army time now. 'But listen, when you kill, your heart will start to beat incredibly fast and you'll feel a rush of emotions like you've never felt before. Your throat might seize. Take deep breaths to calm yourself and take control of your body else your muscles might seize. Think only of the relics, that might help.'

They galloped through deserted streets, abandoned neighbourhoods, rubble and detritus. Hooves reverberated loudly on cobbles. The mood of the place seemed to foreshadow a forthcoming apocalypse, but only a few streets away life flared: files of men and women lined up behind stout barricades, with their cheap weapons, and charged by a hope laced with fear.

Eventually Beami slowed down, and she moved the bag of relics in front of her.

Lupus pulled in alongside her. 'Where are we heading exactly?'

'Western side of Port Nostalgia,' she replied, 'and then we're moving through to the east, and at some point we'll need to cut a line back to the front of the Citadel. We won't have long so please, Lupus, you'll have to hold back because of the sheer scale of this experiment.'

She undid her necklace, the silver tribal symbol he'd given her all those years ago. 'Look after this for the moment.'

Without emotion, he took it and placed it safely in his pocket. He made a silent but important gesture, edging his horse slightly behind hers once again. Drawing his bow over his shoulder, he glanced from side to side. 'At least let me cover your back.'

'Thank you,' she whispered.

Beami primed the relics and stared up as the snow began falling, bold flakes that saturated the grey sky. She nudged her horse forward into the open Port Nostalgia district – surprised at how this unfamiliar mount seemed to react as if it already knew her thoughts. Now to the harbour front itself, where four ships of the invading fleet had already breached the harbour walls and were parting the vessel-crowded port with ease.

Fishing boats capitulated in their path, buckling under the impact, a series of tiny wooden explosions.

'You'd better hurry,' Lupus advised her.

Beami observed the terrace of coloured buildings, noting their vacant facades. Thankfully there was no one stationed in the windows, no sword points or arrow tips sticking out from behind the barricades.

The commander had done what she asked.

She dismounted and hauled out the first of the amplified Digr-Brenna relics. She had modified several of them so they could sit on spikes, and with a small mallet pounded one into a gap between the cobbles.

Lupus loitered close by, watching intently.

'Please, Lupus, keep clear. I'll be all right on my own. It'll get dangerous very soon. Please, go now – and take my horse with you.'

His understanding was instant, and nothing seemed to demonstrate his respect for her more than when he silently turned his horse away.

'I'll be at the east end of the harbour, waiting.' A smile and he was gone.

No time for emotion, not now. Deep breaths.

She wedged another device in a gap, where it leant at an angle, but remained upright. Another twenty paces, another relic, and so on; all the time she had to endure the fearsome racket of the enemy ships crunching their way towards the shore.

For ten minutes, Beami continued at her task, her cloak billowing around her. She dared not stop to examine the hulk of metal now towering immediately before the shoreline.

There, that was the last of them.

She took several more deep breaths – and fled.

As she ran she heard the ship doors opening, the sound of them lowering to strike the stone quay, then the clanking of footsteps across a metal bridge. Things crawled out from inside, unnatural creatures with shells. Whatever they were, they were armed and came skittering across the quay towards her, towards the city, pouring out of the boats as if they'd sprung some vile kind of leak.

Deep breaths, remember.

There were shouts and cries from within the city, people beginning to react to this sight. An arrow whipped through the air from somewhere deeper in the city, and she prayed that the soldiers would not come forward to meet the invaders in combat, not yet.

Patience.

She crouched to plant the detonation device as one of the creatures scuttled forward, now only twenty feet away from her. With her heartbeats slamming in her mouth, she waited for as many of these things as possible to descend onto the harbour front. A subtle twist of her hand, and she set off her chain of devices.

A web of purple light shot out across the quayside. In an instant the harbour front ripped into the sky.

Cobbles exploded upwards all along its length and the aliens began to scream, unnatural and piercing, suffering under such an almighty display of her cultist power.

Deep breaths.

A brutal hail of stone fragments slammed down around her, and she ran further along the street to take shelter in a doorway. Ripped body parts and portions of exoskeleton clattered along behind her, coating the road with blood. A rumel head, severed by the blast, spun towards her and finally fell still, eyeing her reproachfully.

Suddenly she could sense the underpinning cohesion of the ground begin to fall apart, and she realized that she needed to escape. Dashing through successive street junctions, her cloak flapping around, she kept glancing back, but none of the unnatural invaders seemed about to catch her.

She turned to witness the next phase of her handiwork while nestling in the shelter of a narrow alleyway.

A terraced row of housing shook and leaned over in a surreal fashion, then fell forwards as if the buildings themselves were drunk, smothering any enemy left standing from the first assault.

Masonry dust and smoke obscured the scene, and when it partially cleared it revealed that hundreds of the creatures had been massacred – with no cost to civilian life. Beami felt an adrenalin rush at having for a moment halted the invasion, so she did not quite understand why she was crying and shaking.

Lupus burst through the smoke, still on horseback, and in silence he hauled her up behind him. She clasped her hands around his waist, and with her cheek pressed up against his back they rode off to the sanctuary of the Citadel, through gathering numbers of soldiers shifting forward to form a line of defence.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Abaris and Ramon sauntering slowly back the way she had come.

Into the Citadel and towards one of the broad arches surrounding the quadrangle. Lupus dismounted, helped her down, handed his horse over to a comrade. He lowered her onto a chair in a side room and wrapped her carefully in a blanket.

Beami was febrile and tears drenched her face, though she had stopped crying now.

'Beami, I'm stunned by what you did,' he whispered, his tone full of admiration.

But his words, like all other sounds, seemed so thick and distant.

As they strolled along the street, crowds of soldiers brushing past them, Abaris clasped the hand of his long-term lover, Ramon.

'We are at war now, my dear,' Abaris informed him. Above the helmeted heads of soldiers from the Regiment of Foot, he could see the metal hulls of the invading fleet. 'Are you ready to work your hoodoo?'

Ramon reached under his vast black cloak to where, fastened on his left hip, were two animation relics he had designed himself. They were like hand-held metal dream-catchers, each consisting of a brass circular rim about a handspan across, filled with fine webbing and decorative muscovite mica. They were called Eigi, and one in each hand would suffice for these numbers. Abaris looked for a vantage point, and gestured to Ramon that they should climb the external steps of a three-storey whitewashed building just up ahead.

They proceeded slowly through the mass of soldiers, and then upwards, to the flat roof, where they enjoyed a spectacular view of the potential battleground. Extending out among the roofs either side of them were dozens of archers garbed in the green and brown uniform of the Dragoons, and they were firing remorselessly downwards. Now and then a runner would come by to dump a fully stocked quiver beside them, collecting the empty ones for refilling.

The rows of houses just in front had collapsed where that marvellous Beami woman had been at work. Most impressive, Abaris concluded, to be able to have such an impact. Such a wonderful use of cultism with Brenna-based devices to disassemble the natural world. He was not one for that side of their business, but could appreciate a well-devised relic when he saw one.

Below, the battle surged, violently loud. In thick trails of metal-covered flesh, the Empire's regiments pooled into the streets heaped with rubble and debris from earlier. The two forces clashed awkwardly over such terrain. The grey ships – constructed from no element Abaris knew of – loomed vast and smooth and featureless. The so-called Okun came clambering out of the large holds, but struggled to achieve mass due to the destruction all around. And Abaris noted there were rumel following – red-skinned warriors with black armour, stepping more cautiously over the pulp of the dead.

The dead…

Foot soldiers piled in, thick rows of bodies that seemed too close together to manoeuvre – and the front lines were downed, men ripped apart by sabre or shredded by claw. More filled in behind – this was like a well of the future dead. At the rear came several lines of Dragoons on horseback, equipped with lances and maces – an odd tactic to use them so early, Abaris thought. They soon found themselves at the front, and fared fractionally better, the animals trampling down Okun, maces smashing the shells and cracking them open. Troop movements were fluid. Horses began to fall in that horrific silent manner. Abaris seemed so detached from it all up here, viewing the theatre of war from this distance. Dying screams and bellowed commands blurred into incoherency. People were dying without any context. Both cultists were familiar enough with death, but on this scale, it was something else, and they had to wait long enough for there to be sufficient numbers of dead to make what they intended to do worthwhile.

'Let us begin, dear,' Abaris declared, and Ramon held up the two Eigi.

Abaris reached beneath his cloak to retrieve the chargers, and slotted them into the handles of the devices Ramon was carrying. He took one of the relics himself.

Side by side, catching bemused glances from nearby archers, Abaris and Ramon watched as a soft light descended down to the carnage. Soldiers fought on, and in peripheral glances he could see someone's arm being severed; another's organs strewn up against a wall; a severed female head impaled on a shattered window frame.

And in the mass of the enemy pouring onto the streets, there was utter disarray. Rumel shouted in incomprehensible tongues, suggesting to Abaris that they were commanding other creatures. There was a noticeable alteration in the enemy's mood.

It took a while for the pieces to aggregate, but they did, as they always would… Limbs began to coalesce. Arms to feet to flanks of thigh, ribcages woven around organs, fragments of tibia and humerus and femur melding. A slick and glistening thing began to rise up behind the invaders, and glared around with two eyes made from skulls. Its silhouette was that of a single giant, but this was not one creature, it was dozens.

The amalgamated flesh of the dead had become alive once more.

It scooped up more of the carcasses of soldiers, and pasted them to its body, lathering on the blood. Hunched yet taller than any of the surrounding buildings, it lumbered slowly along the streets, Abaris and Ramon controlling it through strings of light. They sensed its abilities, perfected its movements, tentatively exploring what it could and could not do. As it shambled in a line towards them, the cultists shifted further along the rooftop to maintain a panoramic view.

A massive macabre marionette.

The thrill of it was shared by both the necromancers, as they exchanged knowing glances, not needing to voice their own awe.

They put it into action.

The monstrosity bent down awkwardly and swiped away red-skinned rumel soldiers then, one by one, gripped the Okun in its massive surrogate fist and forcefully imploded them. Victims perished, their oozing remnants offering it material for augmenting its growth on this plane of existence.

As it swung its arms they ripped off the parapets of buildings, sent roof tiles skidding into enemy lines amid a shower of masonry. Then it marched into the invaders with apparent glee.

Okun forces began to focus on their attacker, and relentlessly hacked into its composite flesh, angling swords and axes and claws at its feet.

But this thing already belonged to the dead.

It bent over and pulled a few dozen apart like bits of bread, then discarded them in a surge of blood that was pouring down towards the harbour. It leant back, wobbling on its flesh-jelly legs, then stood upright as if admiring its own devastation.

The battle lines became staggered and blurred, and neither invaders nor defenders were certain what this presence now meant. An increasing anxiousness hung over the scene.

A commanding officer ordered a retreat for the Dragoons, and the Imperial soldiers pulled back, maintaining a neat and efficient front line as they withdrew through the awkward, winding thoroughfares at this end of the city. All streets that the enemy might pass through remained blockaded and well defended. Archers hung from the windows ready to pick off those who attempted to follow, but the enemy had thinned out considerably.

The first onslaught having been halted, the cultists turned their puppet on to those remaining, crushing them or swiping them into the harbour. The seawater behind turned red.

No cheering, no cause for celebration.

Next stage: soldiers ran forward to retrieve the wounded. Stretchers were soon lined up and were carried back into the city.

It began to snow heavily.

Abaris released his control and let the monster come to a halt. Abaris did not realize just how excited he had become, his chest heaving in and out, his head perspiring.

Through the bleak vista beyond, another wave of invading ships loomed, at least twenty to Abaris's eyes. He felt a vague disconnection from the scene. Even someone such as he, who was used to dealing with death, experienced dread at what might happen to this city.

Something ripped through the air and a building behind him exploded, coughing rubble on to the street. Ramon turned to see where it came from. Another explosion followed, originating from somewhere Abaris couldn't see. One of the archers screamed. He turned quickly and heard a shrill whistle, then the roof on which he was standing rattled and shook, and began to collapse. As he held on to Ramon, they descended into the rubble.

*

Brynd watched the monstrous apparition fall slowly to one side, like a drunk keeling over at the end of a night. Whatever the thing was, it was no longer able to help them, but he was thankful to have had it on their side. The Night Guard were standing in a line along an observation platform of the Citadel watching the carnage in the snow. Some of them were eager to be deployed, but Brynd would only allow them to ride into combat when the first lines of defence were broken fully.

It was essential for him to retain an overview of the situation. Surveillance from garudas had confirmed that there were no enemy ships heading towards the settlements further along the coast. It meant that this was a blistering assault on the largest mass of population; and that, in itself, suggested their plan was to neutralize the place. Since there had been no attacks on supply routes feeding the city, they clearly did not anticipate a long-term siege. All-out annihilation was the enemy's intention.

Brynd's new plan was to force the Empire's front lines as close to the invaders as was physically possible. He would smother them to prevent them from firing any more bombs, because it would mean too many casualties of their own – that was, if they had much in the way of morality.

Finally, a wave of garudas flew in from the east, carrying cultist-designed Brenna explosives, as he had instructed earlier. Ten avian soldiers entered the airspace above Villiren, and Brynd could see them modifying their flight paths to avoid dropping the devices on their own people.

They rushed towards Port Nostalgia and released the relics, and the explosions could be felt even up in the Citadel. The city rocked ten times, yet none of the garudas were shot down, retreating safely to the skies in the west.

Brynd's hopes that their efforts would be lasting began to collapse when he counted at least another twenty-five enemy vessels approaching the harbour.