City of Ruin

FORTY-NINE

Brynd now had to wake up his unit in the middle of the night. Bleary-eyed and half asleep they shuffled to the obsidian room, where in near-darkness he told them of the murderous attempt on him, and the outcome. Their reaction was a stunned silence.

Did they believe him? Would they think he had killed Nelum because of their recently expressed differences?

'Why would Nelum attack you?' Tiendi asked. Only the woman dared speak.

'You tell me,' Brynd suggested, scanning the rest of them for signs of insubordination, for subtle expressions indicating anyone else out to get him. If he wasn't careful, he could become completely paranoid. 'He just came into my room with a weapon when he thought I was asleep.'

Brynd had already requested two of his men to help him carry in the body, carefully wrapped up in bed sheets. It now lay on the table, and Brynd pulled the sheets aside to reveal the corpse.

'Fucking hell,' someone gasped.

'Shit.'

The bubbling beneath the dead man's skin had worsened, leaving little to identify him except his uniform. His arms were bent out of shape, one of his legs so swollen that it had split his breeches open.

'What could have caused such a reaction, commander?' Lupus asked.

'Whatever that blade was made from.' Brynd gestured to the weapon still in the corpse's chest. 'Probably some hybrid form of poison – which was intended for me. I'm making no assumptions that he was working alone.'

Silently, members of the Night Guard huddled around the body, then some walked away as if trying to distance themselves from this hideous sight. One or two exchanged glances and Brynd examined their movements. Judging by their body language, this was as much a mystery to them as it was to him.

Tiendi persisted, 'I don't get it. Why did he want to kill you?' Because I'm gay. Because I'm an abomination to his definition of man. Because his beliefs told him to? 'I can only guess he didn't agree with my decisions in some way.'

*

Ice-wet steps descended to the central courtyard of the Citadel. Layers of moss and lichen added to the gloom. Sombre and still shocked, the Night Guard formed a respectful line past which Brynd, Lupus, Brug and Mikill carried a stretcher bearing the silk-wrapped body of Lieutenant Nelum Valore. A few other people had gathered on the viewing platforms, peering down at this black-garbed troop of mourners.

Morning sleet skidded past his face as Brynd helped steer the remains of his old friend – because that's what he was, doesn't matter what he's done – towards the funeral pyre. He was acutely aware of the questioning gazes of his regiment. Some of them had not wanted a traitor burned with dignity.

The line of soldiers stamped to attention, bringing their right fists to their chests. Brynd and Lupus steadied the front end of the black-shrouded stretcher bearing Nelum's body, guiding it gently onto the head-high shelf, then stepped back in line with the others. Brynd gave the orders for the pyre to be lit. Someone applied a flaming torch to the base of the pyre and slowly the fire spread till it formed a beacon under the dark sky.

'I hope your chosen gods will treat you well, lieutenant,' Brynd whispered, staring through the shimmer of heat.

Lupus leaned towards him. 'It was good, doing this. That is a good gesture, given what he tried to do.'

'He was still a Night Guard, private. Still, ultimately, a good man.'

*

The best of what the Empire had to offer was lined up in a chamber overlooking the north face of the Citadel. In the distance the sounds of combat drifted ever closer, like an approaching storm. A sense of dread hung in the air, as Brynd watched Blavat the cultist arranging her display of vials on the stone table to one side. He scrutinized all of the little glass containers, already knowing the order in which they'd be selected. Each moment seemed to stretch out in time, as he kept getting tangled up in his own thoughts.

The rest of the unit was morose, standing with arms folded in a contemplative silence. Brynd reminded himself to work on their morale before the mission, since he needed their dedication, especially now.

Lupus volunteered to go first, his partner Beami standing ready to conduct the new augmentations. Lupus removed his shirt and lay down on the plinth, the others waiting and watching mournfully like he was preparing himself to die. Relics were made ready, metallic and crystalline devices lined up, plates attached to his head, then he and his partner shared a final glance before he was injected with extra life. He coughed a loud gasp, clenching his fists then fell to the floor. Beami gently helped him over to the side of the room, where he gripped his gut and rubbed his head.

Everyone stared in anticipation. He seemed completely alive and well and flabbergasted at his new-found senses. He described possession of enhanced qualities that made Brynd excited.

The others followed suit. One after another came Tiendi, Syn, Mikill, Brug, Smoke, Haal, Bondi, and the rest: injection, gasp, collapse, struggle upright, alive.

Then Brynd himself approached the plinth, baring his chest before the cultist. Cold metal penetrated his skin and a surge of technology exploded through his veins -

Like being plunged in ice-water.

Breath fled from his body and he felt his heart beat in a myriad of rhythms. In one instant he felt crippled, then the next, utterly healed. It was only a few seconds before the side-effects were overcome by the new enhancements. Brynd suddenly became quite aware of the changes in his body: the throb of muscle. His sense of smell was more acute, and his vision sharpened by a new quality that he didn't yet know how to control.

*

Twenty minutes later, and Brynd requested an update of the current status of the citizens being held captive. The latest estimation was one thousand five hundred. The Night Guard was gathered around the massive table of the obsidian chamber feeling much darker and more oppressive than it had ever been. He related the data to them.

To Brynd's newly enhanced vision, the outlines of people's expressions appeared so acutely prominent that he could almost read their minds. Eighteen of them left, all in all, and Bohr-knows how many of the enemy. Brynd had to remind them just how much more efficient the Night Guard would prove on an individual basis, and that their extra enhancements might have made them near indestructible. Confidence and psychology were the key.

Brynd described the tactics:

They would now initiate Last Resort Storming. Because the warehouse was deep within enemy territory, a squad of garudas would drop them in, one bird for every soldier. They would swoop into a derelict street, half a mile to the south of their target location, where it had been reported there were minimal defences. Full-scale engagement had to be delayed as long as possible, therefore any interim combat would have to be swift and silent. Cultists could provide them with newly developed Reykr relics, a smokescreen tool. They would be armed with a sabre, a dagger, and a crossbow, and in small groups would penetrate in five locations, while garudas would blanket-bomb with Brenna three hundred yards north, to cause a distraction.

They would start under cover of darkness, but meanwhile there was still one other person Brynd wanted to speak to before the evening began.

*

He found her waiting as requested, in a dark annexe of the hospital, far enough away from the screams and howls of surgical horror. She was slumped in a chair at a table, a hot beverage beside her.

When he addressed her Nanzi looked up at him meekly, her hands still resting in her lap. Her eyes revealed the trauma of witnessing so many people in terrible pain. How could she ever be a killer, this woman who was little more than a girl?

'Good afternoon, commander,' she murmured expectantly.

Brynd nodded a greeting, then ploughed on. 'With your… ability of transformation. What can you do with it precisely? I believe, you can ensnare several victims at a time.'

She expelled a bitter sigh. 'You want me to fight, don't you? You want the big bad monster to go to war on your behalf.'

'In a manner of speaking, yes.' Brynd divulged the details of his operation. 'So you see, I'd like to make use of your skills, to secure certain vantage points that would help us infiltrate where necessary, then use your… secretions to hold back the enemy as we advance. And to aid with wounds, as you currently do.'

'I will try,' Nanzi agreed finally, then suddenly broke down in tears.

Brynd felt uncomfortable at this emotional outburst. She was a killer, nothing more, but he couldn't let her see his resentment.

'Look, after this war's over, I promise both you and this Voland chap can leave as free people. You'll have my word.'

She regarded him in wide-eyed incredulity. 'I will do as you say.'

*

Armed and ready, the Night Guard lined up in neat rows in the Citadel quadrangle, while storm-torches flared and receded in the breeze. Brynd paraded up and down, calling out instructions, last-minute strategy. Then, in hand language he signalled to the garudas perched above.

They glided down, each landing behind a member of the Night Guard. They linked straps, binding man and bird together. Brynd gave some brief commands: the garudas spread their massive wings outwards, and the soldiers crouched in unison with the bird-soldiers, an awkward joint posture.

Then everyone leapt skywards.

*

Jeryd had received instructions to hold several streets situated on thestern side of the city, which seemed strange because this was practically now the invader's turf. Clearly there was an operation about to take place, something big, but he didn't know what. It was annoying how at times like this, even stray rumours got dissected as if they were encrypted orders.

Reading the entrails of gossip, that's what you're relying on, Jeryd. Why don't you find a primitive tribesman and ask for a shell-reading?

The irregulars had managed to hold on to a street as the conventional military was pushed back, a professional regiment half slaughtered before his eyes. He felt proud of his rag-tag band of rumel – although they hadn't suffered the brunt of that skirmish, they were holding their ground, so the position didn't fall. Only the Okun had been tricky to deal with – with their daunting oneness of action, and they could somehow relay the irregulars' position to each other so as to avoid their snipers. Which pissed Jeryd off immensely.

And now there was endless waiting, it seemed, and Jeryd didn't know what for. The only clear instruction he'd had recently was to expect a visitor later that night, someone who'd contribute to implementing further orders.

Three hours since that message, and now long into the night. While drinking hot tea, snipers and scouts examined the neighbourhood for movement, when eventually a shrouded figure emerged from a side street. A couple of the lads went to investigate and escorted the newcomer over, cloaked and silent, to stand before their platoon leader.

Jeryd then laughed. 'Nanzi, you murdering bitch. The hell are you doing here?'

'I've been selected to help the Night Guard,' she declared, her tone almost apologetic.

Someone behind him gasped and there followed a moment of stunned silence. The presence nearby of that regiment was profound, and had a profound effect on everyone's morale. Jeryd's curiosity increased exponentially.

'Not in this shape, I imagine.' Jeryd gestured up and down at her human form.

Nanzi shook her head. Jeryd shook his.

'There's more,' she said. 'Because of such low temperatures, they want rumel to guide me into position, and then to oversee the escape of the hostages.'

Jeryd held back his disbelief. 'We've not had any official instructions yet.'

No sooner had he said this than a Dragoon came riding up to them, and jumped down from his grey. 'Sele of Jamur, Lieutenant Jeryd. Sergeant Vigspar. I have orders for you from the Night Guard.'

As his mount's hooves crunched on the debris, the sergeant confirmed what Nanzi had just said, and Jeryd listened carefully to the well-organized plan.

Vigspar rode away, and Jeryd immediately dispatched platoon members in search of carts to retrieve any injured hostages.

As the moment for action approached, he heard a communal gasp. He looked back to see Nanzi begin her transformation. She began juddering into shape, limbs unfolding, tufts of hair sprouting.

Within a minute she had contorted into the vast shape of the killer spider.

A couple of the rumel in the platoon cowered back some distance and Jeryd shouted at them, 'Get back, for fucksake. We're meant to guide this… thing into place.'

In the awed silence that followed, Jeryd inspected the dark street once again for movement, all the time waiting for the sound of Brenna devices detonating, forcing the enemy into fighting at night, against their will.

Then suddenly it came, a dull booming in the distance, and shortly afterwards, the faint but urgent response of the invaders being pressed into action, their battle cries.

'Right, lads. Let's go,' Jeryd called.

*

Brynd couldn't tell whether his attack of nerves came from beinransported by a garuda or the prospect of the mission ahead. Hirmour was buckled tight, and he had a cultist-enforced hoplon shielnd sabre. To one side of him, Lupus had a double-compound bolung across his shoulder, a quiver full of flu-flus and standard arrowtrapped to his back. They were hauled above the cityscape watchinhe lights of the explosions some distance away, dull thuds followey yellow flashes. Unmanned garudas flanked those carrying the Night Guard, and instead they carried shields and nets to prevent the mutombs from intercepting them.

In the distance could be seen a surge of enemy troops away from their target location, at least a thousand enemy rumel, and the sight of their departure brought a pang of relief. As the garudas tilted their wings and began to descend, the change in altitude and pace was distressing. Brynd couldn't help swallowing as the streets rushed vertiginously towards him. As soon as their feet touched to firm stone, his troop untied themselves, and the garudas shot skyward.

Brynd checked all were present, whispered brief orders.

Then they separated.

*

Strap your weapons tightly, Brynd signalled to Lupus, and he nodded hinderstanding.

Their small troop of four – Brynd, Smoke, Tiendi and Lupus – then slipped along a side street, behind several war-torn buildings, before tearing down the main thoroughfare that led north towards the warehouse.

The streets here were smothered by a thick layer of snow, and since Brynd had warned that footprints could ultimately give them away, they had to work quickly. Smoke and Tiendi arrived next to him as he paused a hundred yards from the broad street on which their target was located. While Smoke seemed to analyse the elements like he always did, Tiendi signalled discreetly for instructions, with her newly learned hand-language.

Wait until clear, Brynd hand-signed back to her.

Lupus unstrapped his bow, extracted three arrows, nocked one into position while the others readied themselves with sabres and crossbows. Perceiving the world in bright shades following their enhancement, there was no one to be seen around this side of the target building. This peaceful ambience disturbed him, although there was no reason for the enemy to know they were coming.

Then something crossed his vision, at the far end of the street: four dogs appeared, and began barking loudly. He willed them to shut up, for their own sake, knowing what would now be expected of him.

Brynd shifted his gaze towards Lupus and signalled Kill.

Lupus aimed his bow towards the animals, as suddenly they began to bound towards the soldiers, closing the distance at an alarming pace. The first muzzle appearing in his sight, Lupus fired. Then he loaded-fired, loaded-fired, loaded-fired until all four dogs collapsed into the snow in rapid succession.

Good, Brynd hand-signed, but Lupus didn't seem to think so.

A sign to follow, then they trotted past the corpses, Lupus pausing to recover the arrows.

At the broad intersection, there was nothing now between them and the rear of the warehouse. Glancing further along, Brynd spotted Night Guard huddled ready, their weapons glinting in the moonlight.

We wait for one other, Brynd signalled to them, meaning the monster.

And there she was, right on cue, scrambling over the rooftops towards them, an unnatural sight even in the most unnatural of circumstances. He watched in awe as she dropped herself to street level using some kind of self-produced cable. Brynd whistled three times and the towering creature scuttled next to him. Lupus instinctively raised his shield in front of him.

Brynd signalled to another group, then he jogged to a different position. By now, the Rumel Irregulars had arrived as backup, led by Lieutenant Jeryd. The ex-investigator nodded to him, acknowledging the situation. Brynd found he had to admire this tough old professional. A reassuring line of grey-skinned rumel stretched behind him, various wagons and carts visible among them. As Brynd returned, he gestured to the spider then whistled three times. In decreasing amplitude, the whistles were echoed into the distance.

The Night Guard crossed the intervening street with stealth, in one swift and fluid movement. Backs against the granite warehouse now, whose wall must have been a hundred yards in length. Reeking of marine odours, the place had probably been used as a fish storage facility and just how many hostages could fit inside it was anyone's guess.

A look to the left, the right, up, across and down.

Then along the street the rest of the Night Guard came stepping lightly through the snow.

Brynd had placed an ear against the wall, making the most of his heightened sense of hearing: indistinct shuffling – could have been rats – and a groaning, like some painful lament.

Was that them?

The spider lumbered across his path and skittered up the wall. The soldiers gaped as they watched her climb then flip directly onto the roof.

Another hand signal, a further change in position, this time further along the wall in search of the suspected points of entry. The Rumel Irregulars came through the snow to draw up behind. Jeryd stood at the front with his crossbow at the ready, one hand held out to urge caution. Their silent approach was matched by the eerie calm of the war-torn city at night.

Brynd located a suitable entry point, signalled for them to follow, whistled sharply to those further along the wall. The metal door was slung open, Brynd's small group began to enter. With bow nocked, Lupus was just about to follow the others inside when a small troop of red-skinned rumel came marching into the main street. They didn't notice the remaining Night Guard soldiers in the shadows, and focused instead on the Irregulars, now running towards them, a cacophony of yelling. The enemy began to release arrows and the Irregulars instantly returned fire with crossbows. Two rumel had fallen on each side before Lupus eliminated three of the redskins in rapid succession. They retreated back before it could develop into a close-quarters skirmish.

Brynd signalled for Smoke to deal with the redskins before they could get away and bring reinforcements.

A quick sprint back to investigate the casualties.

Four Irregulars were gathered around Jeryd, who now lay on his back with two arrows in his face and another in his chest.

Fucking hell, you too, Jeryd. After all you've done to help us.

'Shit, the old sod's dead,' someone said, pointing out the obvious.

'He's not just some old sod,' Brynd snapped, 'but an investigator who served the Empire loyally. Make sure he gets put on a decent pyre, you hear, and free his soul with some dignity.'

There was a high-pitched screech as the spider suddenly reappeared. It came bounding through the snow at an unlikely pace, forcing everyone away from the body of the investigator. The creature prodded the corpse with one of its legs. It tried to secrete something to stop the bleeding. How bizarre, Brynd reflected – this was the person who tried to put the creature behind bars.

Smoke rejoined them with a simple nod, confirming that he'd finished off the escaping redskins.

'Good work,' Brynd murmured.

The soldiers trotted across the street, weapons in hand, and all the time Brynd was checking around for any further incidents. Bringing his shield up in front of him, they headed into darkness.

*

Scan the walls, the doors, any signs of ways in or out. Lines of the corridoere evident to Brynd's senses, as was the cold dampness and stencf decay, but he couldn't source where the hostages were being held.

They pressed on for some time, the only noise detectable thootsteps and breathing of his own soldiers. An open space presentetself, a hallway, and after brief analysis he chose another corridor tollow. Lupus held his bow ready, Smoke and Tiendi gripped smalrossbows and sabres.

He put his arm out behind to halt the others: there was a distinct change in texture in the light up ahead.

A flicker?

A redskin rumel stood at the far end of the passage, leaning on his sword, talking in alien constructs to someone out of sight. Brynd signalled for Tiendi and Smoke to take out the nearest one, and for Lupus to fire at the one beyond.

Click, click, thud.

The enemy collapsed on each other. Brynd dashed ahead and, by the bodies, gave a quick look around. If their minds had been connected in some way, then others would be arriving soon. He dragged the corpses into shadow where Lupus retrieved his arrow.

They had to be getting close now.

Stepping with extreme caution, they approached a partially closed doorway. Back pressed against the wall, Brynd nudged the door open with the tip of his sword. Three soldiers beyond: all redskins, no Okun. Brynd gave his team the signal then deliberately coughed.

Two of the redskins emerged into the hallway where their throats were slit quickly. Brynd burst into the other room, shield raised, and engaged immediately at close quarters with another. He found it easy to block the sloppy strokes, then he knocked his assailant's arm against the wall. With his sword he ripped open the creature's torso, thrusting upwards to the hilt. Thick blood spilled onto the floor. The creature slumped sideways.

The rest of his unit filed in behind. Brynd hoped the rest of the Night Guard had managed to penetrate this far.

The next door they came to revealed some kind of washroom, with decrepit plumbing and broken wall tiles. The floor was covered in ice so they had to slide forward on hands and knees to the door leading into the main chamber.

Brynd opened it to reveal a vision of hell.

Immediately before him lay the remains of dozens of humans, and it took him a minute to realize they were mainly children and the elderly. Their corpses littered the floor or were heaped in the corner. Bones were fragmented across the floor, amid pools of blood long congealed. Many of the corpses had been sliced open and the bones partially removed, then left discarded. He wondered why. Were they rejects, the human waste? Ones who had not been loaded on boats and removed from the city?

There was no hope of recovering these bodies until later, so Brynd beckoned the others to move on. He could not blame them for standing there gaping with their jaws slack and eyes wide in disbelief.

We move on, he signed.

Too late? Lupus queried.

No. These are abandoned. Young and old. Probably find citizens still alive further on.

Tiendi was the first to shake herself out of the shock, coming to stand alongside Brynd, expectantly.

Into the next room…

Where hundreds of hostages lay slumped on the floor – but still alive.

Suddenly they began stirring. They had already noticed the arrival of the elite troops, more of whom were now appearing through different entrances.

Don't talk, don't talk. Brynd made obvious signs for them to remain quiet, but it was no good. The sounds that would blow their cover rippled through the warehouse, and within a few heartbeats, enemy soldiers began filtering in to the room.

Fuck.

Brynd now shouted the commands for combat focus.

The Night Guard united ranks as best as they could, while Lupus fired repeatedly to distract the enemy, his arrows plunging into the enemy, who were now spilling into the vast warehouse. Arrows and crossbow bolts sparked off the stone walls.

No sooner had a significant cluster of the dreaded Okun burst in, than Nanzi disgorged a thick drool of silk from above. The enemy was instantly halted, unable to navigate the sticky pulp. Lupus began an insane dash, sprinting across the front of their line, firing two arrows at a time into their weak spots as they waded through the viscous substance – and they began to crumple one by one.

Hostages were shouting and screaming by now, making a chaotic situation even worse.

Nanzi dropped to the floor and reared up on her back legs to force the hostages in hysteria towards the rear exits – and towards freedom. She then turned to confront a unit of the redskins, and Brynd ordered Tiendi and Smoke to provide her with backup.

The redskins lined up uncertainly before her, at first not quite sure what to make of this intruder, and suddenly some of their archers buried a dozen shafts in her abdomen and thorax. There was a deafening screech as her legs buckled, and she toppled forwards. Several others rushed forward to hack at her legs. She swiped at them with her razor-sharp limbs, severing their heads and arms in one go.

More came in, driving their blades into her thick black spider-flesh.

She screamed. She wheezed. The texture of the warehouse subtly changed.

As she settled herself down amidst her torture, a horizontal wave of purple light burst from her body and spread across the room.

A deep explosion knocked everyone to the floor, blew the upraised shield from Brynd's arm. He sprawled across the flagstones to retrieve it.

The battle regained momentum as the civilians scrambled to safety, and eventually the Night Guard managed to get themselves into position of forming a wall between the enemy and the hostages. By now about seventy enemy soldiers had arrived, and dozens more were soon filing into the room, many more than Brynd had anticipated, but he didn't reckon they would be too much to handle.

He screamed an order. The Night Guard merged, locked shields above their heads and in front, utilizing the hoplon's shape to form a phalanx formation. Arrows came crashing into them, an inexorable iron rain.

Under this metal shell, they nudged forwards.

*

Voland almost despaired at the sight of another delivery of casualties. Most of the time he felt like he was merely patching up the living dead.

Over the last two days he had slept for maybe eight hours in all. It was a job without gratitude, a life without motivation. As soon as one bed was cleared, another two bodies were waiting to use it. Time and time again, he had tentatively touched the detonator-collar round his neck, but it didn't seem as if it could ever be removed.

A moment of peace, finally, as he seized a few minutes to take a sip of water and contemplate his surroundings. He was in a chamber of the temporary hospital, a lantern-lit hole with a few empty cups, a few bits of stale bread.

Where is she now? he wondered.

The light suddenly blew out and he was left in darkness, uttering a weary sigh. Suddenly a wind caressed, one he was familiar with, like an old friend. Or friends.

'Voland…' they chimed.

'… we've found you again.'

'We want to help you, but we bring bad news.'

'Bad.'

'Sad.'

'Oh, so sad.'

Voland stood up, discerning the faintest glimmer of their wraithlike wisps. The devil chorus had returned. 'What is it?'

'Nanzi has left us, Voland.'

'Died.'

'We felt it, so sad.'

'Oh, so sad.'

Like an arrow in the heart, it struck home. He sat down, stunned. He tried to process what the Phonoi had just told him as they spun around his head. They were dizzying. He felt sick.

'What happened?'

They told him all.

He crumpled to the floor. All meaning had petered out of his life, nothing making sense any more, and soon confusion turned to frustration turned to rage.

Nanzi. The woman he adored, the woman he had helped to save once already, the woman he had helped to craft: there was as much of him in her as there was in himself.

She's gone…

There was a void in his heart so sudden and terrifying, he did not know what to say. In this suffocating darkness he could barely breathe. She died for those people up there, the riffraff. She had no business with their lives, and she was forced to it against her will because of a crime that should not have been thought a crime. It is their fault she isn't with me any more… my Nanzi.

'We're so sorry, Voland.'

'Please let us help you.'

'You have been so kind to us.'

'We want to make you feel better.'

Sobbing on his knees he managed a 'Thank you'. He then wept openly in front of the Phonoi for some time – he couldn't tell how long. Time had begun to lose any context, and slowly anger began to establish clarity in his thoughts.

When he had finally regained his composure he shuffled his way by touch towards the door. Opening it, he stood in the half-light, looking across a sea of the wounded, the dead-to-be.

It was their fault.