Nights of Villjamur

EIGHT

Brynd was up with the sun, or what could be seen of it in this dank weather. Sometime after the bell tower had struck five, he spent a while poring over the maps of the Boreal Archipelago, Kym now a distant memory.

Then, leaving his chamber, he joined Chancellor Urtica for a simple breakfast in one of Balmacara’s dining halls. They were the only two there, but a fire had already been lit to warm the great chamber. Aged Imperial standards hung in strips in various states of decay. Some of them were over a thousand years old: faded icons of faded glory.

‘Please, commander,’ the chancellor began after a few mouthfuls, ‘tell me some more about what happened at Dalúk.’

At least the chancellor seemed more interested this time. Brynd carefully explained all that had happened, produced the arrow. He insisted it wasn’t so much who had attacked him that mattered, more the point of how they managed to find out about his expedition.

‘You suspect that we’ve a spy among us, commander?’ Urtica suggested.

‘I would say, chancellor, that it might be likely. The loyalties of certain people within Balmacara are complex. Councillors possess external connections that Emperor Johynn wouldn’t have been informed of. People with friends in distant places. If you call that the activities of a spy, then, yes, but it didn’t come from my mouth.’

‘You could make a politician yet, my dear fellow.’

Brynd didn’t respond, just ate another mouthful.

Urtica picked up the arrow again. ‘Varltung, you think?’

‘It’s certainly possible, judging from the rune marks, while the metal work is definitely something I’d associate with non-Empire craftsmanship. I think it’d be worth you showing it to some of the experts in the arsenal workshops.’

‘I’ll do that.’ Urtica looked from the arrow to Brynd, then back again. ‘Of course, if this was an attack mounted from Varltung, with the Freeze taking a firm grip, we may well need to brace ourselves for something more serious.’

‘You think?’

‘We must fear that the Varltungs are getting ready to seize Jamur territories,’ Urtica said.

‘You mean the islands nearby?’

‘We must be ready to defend them, yes. The most northern and easterly islands are always heavily manned, considering we see little war from there. But I suspect we must also be ready now to counter-attack. They have killed some of our best men, commander. We can’t allow this to go unpunished.’

‘Surely a campaign against the Varltungs is unnecessary – and likely to be unsuccessful, too? We’ve tried that before, several years ago. Decades, in fact. And what about the Freeze? You want to deploy all these men at a time when so many refugees are clamouring to get into our city?’

‘Exactly so,’ Urtica said. ‘We must strike them fast and hard, and in a sufficiently damaging way that makes sure they can’t counter-attack for the foreseeable future.’

‘I would think the ice age means all this is pointless?’

‘Not at all. Because of the Freeze, because of all these years of being locked away, we’ll need those islands kept safe for our future generations.’

Brynd said, ‘And you’re so confident that any of us will survive at all?’

‘Times will be very difficult, commander, and of course many may not survive. We don’t even know the potential extent of the icecap. But it is possible that people will indeed survive, and safeguarding those islands would guarantee them the best possible chance of survival after the ice retreats.’

Chancellor Urtica had donated a few luxuries and a considerable sum of money for the brief journey – all of ten Jamúns’ worth of the latter, broken into smaller coin: Sota, Lordil, Drakar. Brynd couldn’t help feeling a bit suspicious, but accepted these supplies courteously. Perhaps he is just trying to make me feel better after losing so many of my troops.

They set off out into the cold grey morning.

Two pterodettes arced in the sky, their shrill cries penetrating the quiet of the city. Behind them they left the ringing of the hours for morning worship, the smell of breakfasts from assorted dining halls.

Waiting at the front entrance to Balmacara were the four men he had chosen. Standing by their immaculately prepared horses, patiently waiting to leave. Staring up at the sky, Apium was sitting on a black gelding alongside a vast, gleaming carriage which the new Empress would travel in. The other three Night Guard soldiers, none of whom had been at Dalúk Point, were talking together quietly: fit, young, ideal for such a casual expedition. The two blond men were Sen and Lupus, twenty-six and twenty-two years old respectively. They could have been brothers, both lean, both tall. Both with those cutting blue eyes. Something almost wolf-like about their appearance. They had risen dramatically through the army because of their talent, and they respected Brynd above all others. Brynd valued Sen particularly since the lad was easily the best swordsman he had ever trained. He constantly worked on developing his skills, so Brynd would lay money on him being the finest swordsman in the Empire within a year or two.

Nelum Valore, a heavily built black-haired man, was a little older. Should have become one of the Imperial academics, but he preferred life outside of musky chambers. Said what you could learn from books could be learned from the real world too. Brynd admired that quality, and made him one of the youngest lieutenants ever serving in the Night Guard. The man rarely discussed his Jorsalir beliefs, either, and the commander didn’t know what to make of his dedication to gods he couldn’t see.

These four were the best of the remaining regiment. In full uniform, black on black, the seven-pointed star glistening on their chests, they stood to attention, each with his left hand resting across his stomach.

‘Sele of Jamur,’ Brynd greeted them. ‘We all set to go?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sen replied for them. ‘All weaponry’s been fixed to the carriage and we’ve got our rations inside. Lupus arranged for the vehicle to be thoroughly cleaned overnight, so it’ll be good enough for whoever it is intended.’ This last statement hung in the air, hoping for an answer.

Brynd peered underneath the carriage to confirm four crossbows and four spears were fixed to the base between the axles. Short-handle axes were there too, and none of those extra weapons could easily be seen, being a useful addition to the sword and bow each man would carry. Having the benefit of young eyesight, Lupus was a highly skilled archer, while Apium and Nelum used their mature strength for axe work, but knew their way around a sword as well.

‘Good. I’ve requested for a garuda to track us in the skies – to scout around also, so that we don’t get surprised again. So you know in advance, while we’re away, the Council will make an announcement revealing that Emperor Johynn has died, and that his elder daughter, the Lady Rika, will become ruler of the Jamur territories. Villjamur will be officially in a state of mourning until our return.’

‘With the new Empress, I take it?’ Nelum tapped the side of the carriage with his palm.

Brynd nodded. ‘Yes, we’re collecting her from Southfjords. She knows we’re coming to meet her, but not that her father’s dead.’

‘Whose job is it to deliver the news?’ Sen said.

‘That honour appears to be mine,’ Brynd said grimly.

‘I’ve heard she never liked him that much anyway,’ Nelum muttered.

‘Meanwhile…’ Brynd faced each of them in turn, ‘no flirting, no smiling – in fact, no talking to her, unless I say so. Just remember, she’s your new ruler. You serve her loyally. We’re her guard.’

They nodded in confirmation.

‘Just us five going?’ Nelum enquired.

‘No point drawing too much attention to our departure. It’d alert too many people that something was up. We won’t get any trouble going to Southfjords, so no need to waste extra men. There aren’t enough of us Night Guardsmen left, anyway. I’ll have to recruit more after we return.’

Silence passed as they reflected on dead comrades.

‘Right,’ Brynd continued, ‘we’ve a longship waiting for us at Gish, and that’s where we ride first. It’ll take the best part of two days, so let’s get going.’

They all mounted their horses.

‘You’re very quiet today,’ Brynd remarked to Apium. The redhead was clutching at his stomach.

‘Aye. Seems that I can no longer handle a bit of lager like I used to.’

In the centre of the Atrium, Chancellor Urtica stood before the assembled Council. He flicked back his grey cloak dramatically, looking around with a falsely solemn expression. If he wanted to initiate a combat situation, he would have to be at his most persuasive, most charming. The reactions of the other members were uniformly glum.

‘Fellow councillors,’ he began, ‘I’ve only this morning had a private meeting with Commander Brynd Lathraea of the Night Guard. He has informed me that he strongly suspects the Varltung islanders as being responsible for the surprise slaughter of his men.’

Urtica produced the arrow that Brynd had given him earlier, passing it to the nearest councillor to hand around the chamber for inspection.

‘Somehow these wretched people have found out about our secret mission to secure more firegrain, and are now planning to make sure we crumble before the Freeze properly settles in.’

There was a murmur throughout the chamber, and someone spoke up, ‘Are you quite certain this is from Varltung?’

‘Indeed, the armoury will take a look to make sure, but we’re confident it’s from Varltung. They clearly knew of our plans and consequently destroyed some of our best regiment.’

‘But they’re merely barbarians,’ Councillor Mewún protested. ‘How could they do this?’

Urtica’s voice became bolder, a well-rehearsed ploy on his part. He felt it important to inject some drama into these meetings. ‘I strongly recommend that we act on this outrage promptly. We should send a naval assault to seize the entire island and disable it, and take their resources. Who knows what they will be capable of later, whilst our city gates are closed?’

‘Should the new Empress not decide this?’ Urtica couldn’t see who spoke.

Silence, for several heartbeats. ‘She’ll have many other concerns once she arrives, and I don’t think she is capable of conducting a military operation yet.’

‘I’m not certain we should consider going to war on such little evidence. How can you launch an attack without more definite proof?’ It was Councillor Yiak, a chubby woman that Urtica had never liked much.

‘We do have evidence,’ Urtica said. ‘But I can tell you need further encouragement on the issue. This is about defence of our Empire, about protecting it against crimes such as that perpetrated at Dalúk Point. I suggest we should have another debate this very evening, following the evening prayer bell.’

Urtica was delighted as the motion was carried overwhelmingly.

Councillor Boll then stood up, his skinny frame barely noticeable. His manner was nervous, his voice uncertain. ‘Um, I’d like to announce briefly that we’ve had an approach from the Inquisition concerning the recent murder of our fellow councillor, Delamonde Rubus Ghuda. They would like to come into the Atrium itself to discuss the case.’

‘Indeed,’ Urtica replied. ‘But I’d recommend they come when we’re not in session, and instead interview us one by one in our private quarters.’

They all voiced their agreement, because Ghuda was a popular man, would be missed by all, and the sooner they reached the solving of his murder, the better. No one felt this more than Urtica. They shared the ideal that the city should be rid of the scum of refugees, that they presented the danger of disease and discontent. Urtica would endorse everything it took to find who had disposed of his ally.

A few hours outside of Villjamur, on the road to Gish, Brynd caught a glimpse of a curiously caparisoned horse being ridden through a clearing in the betula woodland ahead. They had come off the main road some time ago, preferring instead to follow one of the smaller gravel tracks that ran along the coast. They had avoided the villages and hamlets of Eelú, Fué and Goúle. He thought it best that as few people as possible were aware of their movements.

He could tell that the horse was from one of the famous gangs, but he wondered which one. He always found the gatherings of these horse gangs to be a wonderful sight, and he halted his men with a gesture, interested to see if they were racing today.

‘What’s up?’ Apium said, following his gaze to the trees.

‘Only a gang rider,’ Brynd replied. ‘Might take a look to make sure. Let’s pause here for a quarter of an hour.’

The gap through the larix led him onto an open expanse of tundra, where two horse gangs were currently assembled. There were mainly men as the lead riders, but some girls rode alongside, all dressing their horses similarly to whichever group they favoured. Many wore leather, even daggers, since this was about raw masculine pride: young people dressed up with nowhere to go. Such gangs would gather on exposed areas of tundra to race one another, or just to hang out, drinking alcohol away from the eyes of parents or city guards, and at night they would lie with each other indiscriminately. During races money would change hands as the onlookers gambled on the winners, and rags of different colours were attached to the horses’ legs or tails in a code Brynd didn’t understand. Tribal tokens were fixed to the reins, personalizing the horse as far as possible, in mimicry of the military cadres of the Empire.

Behind the rival groups lay a flat dark plain, under a drizzle-filled sky, with the smell of forests and of salt wafting from the sea to the south. For a short while they would be happy enough here, all the cares and impending changes now forgotten. Two young men presently lined up their horses, paused, then belted across the horizon, the others cheering on in feral calls.

The sight of such carefree enthusiasm made Brynd feel he was getting old. He had youthful dreams once, which seemed to be travelling further and further out of his reach. Perhaps he should stay out of Villjamur when the gates would be shut for all those years…

The garuda suddenly landed next to him. Brynd didn’t even flinch. He had spotted the creature hovering overhead only moments before.

With a chalk-white face offset by golden plumage, and large wings now tucked neatly behind his back, the garuda stood nearly six feet tall. He was wearing black breeches, with nothing covering his upper torso, revealing ferocious muscles beneath the downy feathers of his chest. Tied to the garuda’s waist was a belt with two long sheathed daggers. The creatures were always an amazing sight. They now primarily inhabited several towering cliff faces at the Fugúl Colonies on the island of Kullrún, which was sealed off as a military training ground. There, over a thousand of them lived in caves. They had been an essential part of the Imperial armies for thousands of years. Although communicating with each other through shrill bird calls, they used sign language to interact with humans or rumel. How and when it had come about was anyone’s guess, but such communication was essential to their joint campaigns.

‘Sele of Jamur, wing commander,’ Brynd said.

The bird-man, Wing Commander Vish, then raised his arms to sign, Why have you stopped?

‘We’re only stopping to rest the horses. Did you spot anything on the way here?’

Just more refugees approaching the Sanctuary Road. There are probably at least a thousand camped outside the city now.

‘As many as that.’ Brynd shook his head. ‘What’ll you yourself do – during this Freeze?’

The wing commander eyed him expressionlessly, then signed, What do you mean?

‘I mean, when the ice comes so densely that people are sealed in. That’s not so far off now. You’re intending to stay in Villjamur, right, for all those years? What’re you going to do there?’

Just because the gates are closed, doesn’t mean I can’t fly. I can still serve the military, serve the Empire. You appear rather philosophical today, commander.

‘I guess the Emperor’s death will bring about changes for the city. Maybe I should be thinking of a change myself.’

Maybe you have never quite felt a part of things in Villjamur. I always thought you were too self-conscious about the colour of your skin.

Brynd looked away as if to cut him off. ‘Well, if that’s the case I’ve picked the wrong career.’ He wasn’t aware garudas could be so perceptive. ‘I’m just getting old.’ Brynd laughed. ‘Perhaps I’ve started thinking about myself too much.’

Then you’d be the same as the rest of your race.

‘Come on. Let’s get something to eat.’

Chancellor Urtica strode through the armoury as if he owned the place, yet was almost knocked back by the change in temperature. Rows of men drenched in sweat were working at benches. They looked up to inspect the intruder, their white eyes startling against dust-smeared skin. In the background, a huge furnace burned violently, producing a heady smell. Everywhere, the clunk clunk clunk of metal being beaten and contorted into shape.

‘Can I help you, chancellor?’ A short, stout man, blond hair, wearing a short-sleeved black tunic and black breeches. His arms, shimmering with sweat, were totally smooth because continual exposure to the flames had burned away all the hairs. This was the Chief of Defence for Villjamur – in reality, a retired soldier who still directed the smiths according to battle orders.

‘Indeed you can, Fentuk, my dear fellow,’ Urtica replied, smiling around at the other workers, who glared back sceptically. ‘Walk out with me, if you please, so that we’re not heard.’

‘Sounds important,’ Fentuk muttered.

Urtica led Fentuk out of the building and over a darkened bridge nearby, where you could look directly across the roofs of Villjamur.

It was approaching dusk, a carnelian sky. House lanterns scattered throughout the city seemed to mirror the stars. The twin moons Bohr and Astrid hung on opposite sides of the sky, giving a brilliant light that seemed to catch all the spires and bridges in an ethereal glow. Some distance below them, a horse was being led along a dully lit street, its hooves clopping loudly on the stone. There was a flash of magic. A door opened and closed, chattering of women heard in-between, and there was a lute playing sevenths in some tavern nearby, a dreary tune accompanied by an off-key singer.

One of those perfect Villjamur nights.

‘So, Chancellor Urtica, what’ve you brought me here for?’

‘Insurance.’ Urtica leaned against the parapet of the bridge. The wind ruffled his cloak and he shivered. ‘One can never be too certain who’s listening in, these days.’

‘Listening in?’

‘Listening in.’ Urtica reached under his cloak, produced the arrow. ‘I urgently need to know where this came from.’

Fentuk took it, examined it closely. ‘Hard to tell in this light.’ He rolled it between his fingers, lifted it this way and that. ‘Well, it ain’t Jamur,’ he continued. ‘Not from any of the islands to the west or south. My guess would be Varltung, but I can’t be certain. Made very poorly, you see. Could also be Maour, Dockull or even Hulrr.’ The man pursed his lips thinly. ‘Why? Where d’you get it?’

Urtica clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘It was found in the corpse of a Night Guard soldier. The commander suspects it was a Varltung ambush. I was hoping to get your confirmation, to support the case for a campaign against that nation, before the Freeze sets in.’

‘Oh, well, I… I couldn’t say for sure it’s from Varltung, no.’

‘Are you certain you can’t be sure? We need to strike back against the Varltungs before it’s too late.’ The chancellor waved his hands in the air to stress the point.

‘No,’ Fentuk said. ‘I really can’t be sure, not if it could mean war. Not on my word. Is this all the evidence you have?’

‘We’ve more,’ Urtica said. A lie, of course, and he didn’t think twice about saying it.

‘I can’t help you in this case, chancellor. I’m sorry.’ He handed the arrow back to Urtica, who concealed it beneath his cloak again. ‘Was that everything?’ Fentuk said, running his hand through his hair. ‘I have to be getting back now.’

‘No, there was something else – something much more important.’ Urtica looked around the parapet. He stepped in closer to Fentuk. ‘I must whisper this.

‘I can offer you a substantial sum of money to make sure that you never have to step foot in that rancid armoury again – we’re talking safe accounts and country estates. All you have to do is confirm for me that this arrow came from a Varltung bow, and back me up officially if I wanted to initiate an order of war. You could do that for me, couldn’t you, Fentuk?’

The chief of defence was solemn as he clasped the parapet. ‘I… I really don’t know.’

Urtica placed an arm around him. ‘I wouldn’t like to say what might happen otherwise. I mean, there are some prominent pro-military Council members with significant investments in armoury and ores – and in times of war their incomes and influence are known to rise hugely. Should they be denied this opportunity – and your name will be thrown about the Atrium – well, I have heard tell of punishment beatings for this sort of thing in the past. Such stories…’ He shook his head and sighed for effect.

A moment later, as if ordered, a banshee began keening in the distance, somewhere possibly Caveside. As time passed, Fentuk was visibly shaken by this potential premonition. ‘How much money are we talking about exactly?’ he muttered eventually.

Urtica smiled. ‘That’s the spirit, Fentuk. You won’t regret this. You should maybe join me for drinks sometime, socially.’

Brynd had ordered his men to set up camp for the night on the edge of a copse of trees seven hours’ ride further on from the hamlet of Goúle, and just past the Bria Haugr, a conical hill that was reputed to be an ancient Azimuth burial mound. The surrounding fagus would provide them with some concealment.

They were now halfway to the military port of Gish. Brynd didn’t want to travel via E’toawor, a significant port town and favoured entry point to Jokull. He couldn’t afford to go further north either, to the towns of Vilhokteu and, on the estuary of the River Hok, Vilhokr. He certainly did not need the eyes of common tradesmen, dockers, and farm labourers to be the first of her subjects to set eyes upon the new Empress.

As the sun set Brynd and Sen sparred with sabres a little to fend off the boredom. But as the sky became a bold shade of purple, it was clear that Sen was getting the better of him. The others, including the garuda, sat around the fire, backs against the wheels of the carriage, watching.

‘He’ll have you, Brynd,’ Apium said. ‘I can see your defences falling apart. Sen doesn’t even need a sword.’

Brynd ignored the taunts.

‘Go on, lad,’ Apium continued. ‘Aim low. Go for his cock – he’s not got any use for it these days.’

Finally they sheathed their sabres and Brynd turned to the others. ‘Time for a close-range scout. Sen’ll stay here with the wing commander. The rest of you want to take a look around with me?’

Everyone groaned but they stood up.

Apium brushed himself down. ‘Which way we heading, commander?’

‘I think we’ll follow a circle going east, nothing too far out, just a few hundred paces. I need to make sure there’ll be no surprises tonight.’ Brynd wasn’t sure exactly how wary to be. This was Jokull, after all, and there hadn’t been any serious fighting on the island for years – before Dalúk Point. Before that incident, the idea of any threat on the home island was something not even considered.

The others followed him in a huddled group, taking a three-hundred-pace radius around their camp. The terrain was largely flat, and away from the forest, an open view for leagues. Underfoot was a mossy grass that concealed rocks and dips. Apium managed to fall over just twice.

The sky blackened further. The glow of the campfire stood out as an intense beacon, revealing the silhouette of the carriage. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. Only one of the moons was showing – the larger one, Bohr – but it was now cresting the horizon just before leaving the landscape in utter darkness.

After a while, Brynd heard something strange in the distance. He had spent enough time in the wild to know that it was nothing natural.

He regarded the carriage.

Apium asked, ‘What’s up?’

Brynd gestured for him to be silent whilst he scanned the scene with the enhanced vision which the Night Guard benefited from, but it wasn’t enough for a clear identification.

Shadows moved across the landscape.

Nelum and Lupus moved alongside, staring back to the campfire. Lupus said, ‘I see something.’

‘Strap your weapons and armour tight,’ Brynd said. ‘Let’s get back quietly.’

The four soldiers jogged in stealth across the tundra, back to the carriage. Brynd began to slow, waved for the others to follow suit, then signalled for them to unsheathe their weapons. Lupus swiftly nocked an arrow, Apium and Nelum drew short axes, Brynd pulled out his sabre. As they approached the campfire they spread out.

Sen and the garuda were nowhere to be seen, the only noise coming from the crackle of the fire.

And something was wrong, an uncertainty hovering in the air, and once again the environment became to Brynd a matter of statistics, of distances, chances, arrows spent. He turned back to study the copse of trees. He concentrated, heightening his level of perception.

To the other side of the carriage: a strange lump on the ground. It was difficult to make out in the darkness despite his superior vision.

He went over and knelt down next to it.

Lurched back in disgust.

It was Sen’s head, severed cleanly, blood draining away from it in a small trickle between Brynd’s boots.

Brynd hailed the others in an urgent whisper, and they ran to his side. The sense of shock amongst them was palpable.

Brynd looked up. ‘Stay calm. Stick together.’ He analysed the scene as if the trees would produce instant answers. What the fuck is happening on this island of ours?

He noticed the trail of blood leading under the cover of the fagus trees. The rest of Sen’s body must be there somewhere. The treetops fizzed under the night sky.

‘Wait, commander,’ Apium whispered. ‘I don’t think we should follow. Whatever did this to Sen is obviously skilled at picking people off quietly. Best we don’t separate for the moment.’

‘You might be right there, captain,’ Brynd murmured, though uncertainly.

‘What, we’re just going to let Sen’s death go without investigation?’ Lupus said indignantly.

Brynd gestured for him to lower his voice. ‘One of the most promising young soldiers in the Empire is dead. One of our garudas has gone missing. So you think we should pursue this right now, at night, in the dark in the woods? There’re just four of us now. Already two down.’ Maybe I should’ve brought more men along, but no one but me could’ve known we were taking this route.

‘So we simply wait here,’ Lupus protested, ‘and get picked off one by one?’

A rustling from the trees.

Everyone looked towards the copse.

Three figures lurched forwards and Lupus brought an arrow to anchor point, aimed it.

‘Not till I say.’ Brynd held up a hand, but was reaching for his axe with the other.

The dark figures started running towards them.

Brynd signalled. Lupus released an arrow.

It whipped through the air, struck one of the intruders powerfully in the face. By then he was nocking another arrow, and soon another figure was falling to the ground. The final one stepped forward with sword raised.

Brynd hurled his axe though the intervening space.

It cleaved the attacker’s face and he too slumped to the ground.

Then suddenly the unlikely happened: all three fallen bodies began struggling to push themselves upright, trying to pull out the arrows, with jerky, improbable movements.

Lupus fired repeatedly, pinning the bodies to the ground, twitching. And again they tried to stand with a jagged motion.

‘Aim for their legs,’ Brynd yelled, running to reach under the carriage for a crossbow. Then, returning to Lupus’s side again, he began shooting at the heads and torsos.

They fired until finally the bodies lay still.

‘Cover!’ Brynd swept in towards the dead, seized one of the corpses back into the light of the campfire. Soon the others had done the same with the rest.

Brynd began tearing open the ragged clothing on each of the corpses. ‘By Bohr, these men we’ve killed were already dead.’

‘Are you sure?’ Nelum questioned, and was rewarded with a glare of annoyance from his commander. Yes, I’m sure. These things are fucking dead, many times over.

‘Look at this one. His skin is ice-cold – blue, even in this light. He isn’t even bleeding, just the remains of some black gunk. He’s been dead for several days at least.’

The soldiers remained silent.

‘Draugr,’ Nelum said eventually.

‘Y’what?’ Apium demanded.

‘Draugr. Undead. A purportedly mythical creature. Well, that’s what it looks like anyway. Give it a while longer and I suspect they’ll be back to life, in some sort of manner. So we might want to make sure they’re finished off properly, commander.’

Even as soon as he spoke, one of the bodies began twitching, the fingers moving gently and impossibly. With a sigh, Brynd stepped quickly to the carriage and pulled out one of the larger axes. Over the next few moments he hacked away at the reviving corpses with relentless brutality, grunting as he hauled the metal blade down on them again and again, releasing his frustration in the process, and Apium soon joined in the frenzy with another axe till the camp was carpeted with bone and smashed heads. They then gathered the individual fragments together away from camp, and Brynd fervently hoped there was no way that they could resurrect themselves from that destruction.

‘Now,’ Brynd demanded, with disgust on realizing he was covered in small chunks of flesh, ‘could you tell me about these draugr, lieutenant. Please.’

Nelum had this scholarly way about him when he was explaining, always had done for the years Brynd had known him, and the act in itself was a comfort now, the return to business-as-usual. He began casually, pacing around in slow strides. ‘A few volumes of collected folklore report sightings of undead, mainly on islands like Maour and Varltung. Ascribed to distant mythology, mainly. So you certainly wouldn’t expect to encounter them in this day and age, or for many centuries past. From the accounts I’ve read in bestiaries of the Archipelago, they’re last reported about as far back as the Máthema civilization. That means myths of sixty thousand years.’

‘Yes, but what exactly are they?’ Brynd interrupted impatiently.

‘Exactly what I said: the undead. Corpses that in some way become animated again. Normally, their bodies have to be disposed of in certain ways, so I’m guessing and hoping your little dissection would have covered the requirements rather effectively.’

‘So what are they doing here on Jokull?’ Apium broke in. ‘How did they ever get on the Empire’s home island? With something as sinister as that coming ashore, you’d think some of the coastal guards would have noticed, eh.’

‘Your guess is as good as mine, captain,’ Nelum admitted. ‘I wouldn’t say that they’d feel constrained by water, though. Perhaps they didn’t arrive, and were here to begin with.’

‘It can only be cultist work,’ Brynd said firmly. ‘You remember that figure we saw at Dalúk, captain?’

‘Bohr’s balls,’ Apium gasped.

‘Eloquently put, captain,’ Nelum said. ‘But I don’t see how – and I don’t see why.’

‘How? They’ve found some relic that’ll do the job. But why? I can’t answer that.’ Apium sighed. ‘Well, so much for a quiet night.’

Nelum frowned. ‘I can’t understand what they’re doing out here, and why they’re attacking us. It’s as if they attacked on some primitive instinct.’

‘They’re even frightening off gheels,’ Brynd observed. ‘And that’s saying something. All this blood and not one gheel in sight.’

‘Commander,’ Lupus hissed.

Brynd stepped alongside him, peering out into the darkness. ‘What is it, Lupus?’

‘Over there, about fifty paces. Looks like Wing Commander Vish.’ The private was pointing to the north, beyond the fringe of the copse, at a silhouette with wings protruding over its back.

‘Keep me covered, private,’ Brynd whispered, then stepped forward to meet the garuda. As Vish came closer, Brynd could see that he was dragging his left leg along with both hands. One of his wings hung out raggedly to the side.

Flesh had been removed in chunks from his torso as if devoured, and his feathers were slick and heavy with blood. Brynd kept the sabre in his hand as he supported the garuda along until they were back in the glow of the campfire. There, they eased him to the ground and wrapped him in strips of cloth torn from a cloak to serve as bandages. Finally, Brynd used some of his medical powders to knock the garuda unconscious so he wouldn’t feel so much pain, and Nelum helped him stitch the wounds together.

I should’ve been more prepared. What the hell is happening here?

The wing commander bled to death during the night, his story untold.

Brynd took solace in the fact that he passed away without pain. No one else had slept at all through the night, and they burned his body the instant the sun rose. As they rode off across the sparsely forested sections of tundra they looked back to see a thin stream of smoke carrying the garuda’s soul away. The cold air was sharp against the dried sweat on Brynd’s brow. It was, at least, enough to remind him that he himself was still alive.