Nights of Villjamur

FORTY-THREE

The soldiers had landed their ships on the ice sooner than Brynd had anticipated. Firm ground was still some way to go, but the ice was so thick here that the horses could be safely unloaded.

The horizon was imperceptible, everything cloaked in all shades of grey and white. At least it wasn’t snowing, nor was there any particular wind. A lucky time to be fighting, if you could see anything good in it.

With the fresh recruits in the Night Guard, and the extra forces of the Dragoons, Empire soldiers rode together at a steady pace towards Tineag’l. The two hundred men and women advanced quickly through communities of refugees carrying their worldly belongings to the farthest fringe of their own territory. These people had barely stepped out of their villages, and now were struggling for a new existence, finding new boundaries to their lives. Brynd dispatched twenty of the Second Dragoons to see that these people got safely to the numerous vessels approaching the perimeter of the ice sheets to collect them.

To save causing them unnecessary alarm, Jurro was requested to proceed at some distance from the oncoming refugees. This he did with good grace, though they could doubtless see his hulking figure some distance off.

Brynd took a brief opportunity to interview some of the refugees, hoping to learn more of the unknown enemy. But most were escaping in advance of rumours rather than as a result of first-hand confrontation. Younger boys had the look of confused excitement on their faces, and discussed the possibility of the new race, of a rogue army, of Varltungs, of beings from other worlds, of gods. In the absence of fact, his men would have to ascertain for themselves what lay ahead.

For hours they rode on across the desolate island. Empty towns and villages were all that remained, framed by these vacant-looking skies. The wind picked up a little, stirring a fine powder that clouded the air immediately around them. They wrapped scarves around their faces, vision now coming through a slit.

All that Brynd might have learned about the geography was deeply covered with snow now. They could have been travelling in an alien world.

‘We’ll keep riding until we find something,’ Brynd decided, after being questioned about their current objective. He needed a garuda, but there had been none on standby in Villiren.

Brynd cantered up to the Dawnir who loomed over the men about him. ‘Is this everything you really wanted, Jurro – the military life, as we know it? Not always the most exciting experience.’

‘It is for me. You forget I’ve been staring at the same four walls for so many years. None of the previous Emperors would allow me to leave my confinement.’

‘Any of this prompt some memories then?’ Brynd said. ‘Nothing surfacing in that big head of yours?’

‘Nothing, I fear, so far.’

‘And what’re you hoping to find?’

‘Anything will do.’

Now wasn’t the time to be deciphering Jurro’s existential crisis.

Another quarter of an hour, and they were riding north again, and Brynd decided to spread out sections of the First Dragoons east and west, hoping to ascertain if there were any signs of life. They would converge at designated locations at every bell to report on any discoveries.

It wasn’t long until bad news came. Brynd had waited for it long enough. First, a private had gone missing beyond the town of Portastam, which lay at the centre of the island’s eastern plains. His riderless horse trotted to a troop of Dragoon soldiers out on a scout. Three followed the horse’s hoof prints to investigate. Only one returned, caked in blood and slumped in his saddle. Finally his unit managed to persuade the shivering man to dismount, revealing that his breast plate had been severed cleanly by something phenomenally sharp.

He did not speak for an hour.

When the words came they were initially incoherent, like the mad incantations of a disturbed beggar on the streets of Villjamur. He juddered. Then he managed to gibber about carnage and slaughter.

Brynd quickly organized his remaining troops and readied them for combat.

Blavat spent a moment enhancing the metal armour of the Night Guard with a vald, but she could only strengthen Brynd’s sabre in such a short space of time. He hoped that the technology of the Ancients would last long enough.

The plan would be to stay as one staggered unit, with the two flanks moving forwards, the centre slightly behind to form a pincer. The soldiers adjusted their armour and withdrew their weapons while the snow came and went in assiduous gusts.

Brynd shouted some final orders and the Jamur forces rode on.

Cresting a hill, they were presented with a small group of unknown creatures. In the thick of the snow it was impossible to determine what they were, but they were massed there like a regimental unit at the base of the slope, about fifty of them in all, and nothing else as far as the horizon. Brynd had to make a snap decision either to retreat or to charge, because his men were clearly visible now – and Nelum gave a nod to confirm what Brynd himself was thinking, so the call was given, and the Imperial troops, who outnumbered the creatures heavily, rode headlong into combat, hooves pounding against the snow.

Brynd’s flank spread out along the side with Apium’s waiting briefly then following suit, forming the classic pattern of a pincer attack.

The creatures stood their ground, tilting forward in a uniform movement.

Fifty of them versus over two hundred of the best Jamur soldiers.

Brynd’s horse closed the distance to pull ahead of the opposite flank, instinct leading at this pace of combat. He brought down his cultist-enhanced sabre flaring purple through the falling snow and cleaved the first creature’s skull. It buckled to its knees, but still was taller than any human. The other flanks connected, driving their horses over the enemy. The black armour of their enemy was now distinct against the snow as they lashed out with their claws when the Jamur forces were within range. Brynd could hear his troops howling and grunting all around him as he hacked his way through the enemy. Their shells cracked open and buckled under the ferocious impact of his blows. At first they seemed surprised more than anything, presenting not so tough a challenge, but his soldiers began dropping too. From the corner of his eye he spotted the head of a woman Dragoon getting caught in a giant claw and then her skull exploding as it clamped shut. These weren’t the usual tribesmen armed with a few arrows.

Soon horses were collapsing around him in spectacular numbers, slamming their riders to the ground, where they continued to fight desperately. Brynd’s flank was now severely diminished. But in the end the sheer number of Jamur troops began to prevail, and the last of the horrific creatures were slashed down.

As Brynd dragged his horse out of the bloody scrimmage, a quick head count told him there were only around a hundred Jamur fighters left in all. A hundred of his soldiers had died against just fifty enemy troops.

The survivors, men and women, were pulled from the pulpy mass of the dead and dying, and it wouldn’t be long until the snow covered this dark stain on the landscape. Brynd was greatly relieved that most of his twenty Night Guard were still alive. He couldn’t spot Apium though, so rode up to enquire of Nelum.

‘There,’ Nelum pointed over to one side.

Apium lay beside his horse, still alive, but in obvious pain, one foot still caught in the stirrups. Brynd jumped down, unhooked the foot, noting that his friend had prised off his breast plate and was gingerly fingering his chest. From the look of it, a fragment of enemy carapace had penetrated through his ribs.

Snowflakes melted on the febrile exposed skin.

‘Blavat!’ Brynd looked around for the cultist woman, then waved her towards him.

She dismounted, clutching some relics, placed them to one side. The red-haired man was attempting to speak, but produced only staccato puffs, and Blavat then examined the wound whilst Brynd examined her face.

‘What d’you think?’ he finally asked her.

‘I think I can extract it, but it might have penetrated his lung.’

‘Just do whatever it takes. What about the enhancements we have? Weren’t they meant to help with things like this?’

‘It’s not that easy, since I have no idea what material the enemy’s shells are composed of. It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before, and might not be responsive to my relics.’

‘Commander!’ Nelum drew his attention, gesturing towards one of the creatures they had just vanquished.

He turned to Blavat. ‘Just see what you can do here.’ She responded only with a subtle head movement that could have meant anything. He was constantly prepared for his friends dying in combat, but it wasn’t something Brynd wanted to face now, and not Apium.

Brynd strode over to Nelum, noticing Lupus standing next to him, bow in hand. Two of the creatures had survived, looking like crustaceans strayed from the sea. In some ways they looked partially human, each with two arms, two legs, but replacing skin were those carapaces which made them so formidable. They appeared charred, melted. So this was it then, these were the terrible creatures causing the genocide on Tineag’l. Right now, sitting in a mire of their dead and dying, they didn’t look so impressive. Their bulbous eyes were lid-less as they twitched in sharp movements. But what interested Brynd most was their reaction as Jurro stepped alongside them with a book, some kind of bestiary, in his hand. ‘New creatures, how exciting! Let me see if they are included in here… Damn this index.’

The two captives raked their heads round with clicks to acknowledge the Dawnir’s presence, then seemed to motion with their limbs in a manner Brynd didn’t understand.

It was perhaps a salute, or perhaps some religious gesture. Seemingly they recognized Jurro, which Brynd pointed out to the Dawnir.

‘They know me?’ Jurro stared dumbly.

‘From their reaction to you, they’re familiar with either you, or your breed.’

Brynd wondered what this might mean to one who spent so long hidden in a dark chamber away from prying eyes. Now, to have another creature actually recognize him.

Nelum, ever curious, said, ‘Say something to them, Jurro. See how they react.’

As Jurro bent forward the pair of aliens shied away from his direct gaze.

‘What do you think, Nelum?’

‘Obviously they know what he is, so I’ll bet that wherever they came from, there are more of Jurro’s lot.’

‘Want us to kill them, sir?’ Lupus enquired.

Brynd shook his head. ‘Probably more useful alive.’

Thunder sounded on the horizon and he walked away to squint through the snow. In this monochrome landscape, it was difficult to locate the direction of the plangent sound.

Then he spotted, to the north, a thin line of black.

Barely noticeable, on the furthest hill.

The only patch of darkness against the grey landscape and pale sky.

‘Nelum.’ Brynd summoned him and pointed. ‘More of the same, d’you reckon?’

Nelum regarded the horizon. ‘It looks that way… shit. They’ll destroy us, that number of them. We’ll have to get back to Villiren. Fast.’

‘It’ll take us hours to reach the ice sheets again.’

‘Not necessarily so. We took a meandering path here, took plenty of stops.’

‘Yes, fair point.’

Brynd gave the orders for the two surviving creatures to be bound, alive, but requested Blavat to use some relic to knock them unconscious. All she could really manage was to reinforce the chains that confined them. That would have to do for the moment.

He returned to check on Apium, who was now fading from consciousness. Brynd had noticed that the shell had been removed.

‘You got it out?’ he asked the cultist.

‘No, it disintegrated while we tried to extract it. The remaining part’s still inside him. I’m sorry.’

Apium opened his eyes as if hearing this news. ‘Commander.’ The word emerged as barely more than a breath.

‘Hang in there. We’ll get you strapped on your horse and you’ll be all right.’

Blavat tugged at Brynd’s shoulder, hissed, ‘But he’s going to die. We’ll never get him back in time. He’ll die.’

Brynd stared into her eyes with a feral intensity that made it perfectly clear who was in charge.

‘But the serious wounding is internal. It’s his lungs and-’

‘I don’t give a fuck. I’m not leaving him here. Numb his pain.’

With that he returned to mount his horse, then rode around the remaining group giving orders for an immediate retreat to Villiren.

Apium coughed blood onto the horse’s neck, and when that happened you knew things weren’t looking good. The rhythm of the gallop was making him feel even sicker, and he had to keep stopping, holding the others up. Brynd was constantly looking round to check if his friend was all right. Truth be told, it was as if he was thieving every last breath just to stay alive, and Apium hadn’t a clue how many more hours he would last.

A piece of shell. Just a piece of fucking shell.

It was funny, in a strange way, now that Apium himself knew he was dying, how it seemed to trivialize these final moments. Another irony was that he didn’t feel inclined to tell them about the hole in his boot, or about the frostbite that must be destroying his left foot almost as quickly.

‘You want to get up behind me?’ Brynd asked at one point.

‘No, I’m fine. Leave me behind if you need to.’

‘Leave you with that lot? You must be joking.’ Apium followed Brynd’s gaze off into the distance.

The black-shells had now gathered behind in enormous numbers, a huge line of them now clearly visible. If fifty had taken so much effort to kill, the thousands in pursuit would surely destroy them. Apium was desperate not to hold up the others.

The effect of Blavat’s relics consistently failed, and it felt as if he was inhaling knives.

They didn’t train soldiers for this shit.

It went on for hours, this stop-start nightmare chase through the dark. The creatures just kept on coming, and as the Jamur soldiers finally arrived at the ice sheets, the number of enemy had merely increased.

Everyone was beginning to fear that they would never make it to the longships in time, and Apium felt the burden of Brynd’s soft glances towards him.

‘Blavat,’ he wheezed, unexpectedly.

Surprised, the cultist woman steered her horse closer to his. ‘Yes, captain?’

‘Those brenna devices,’ he whispered.

‘What about them?’

‘They’re primed for our men to use them, aren’t they?’

‘They’re ready to use, yes. What about it?’

Another deep breath that sliced through his insides.

Apium said, ‘They work in a chain reaction, yes? I think I might be of some use. In getting you lot away from here.’

‘I can adjust them so as to work in unison, sure. You really fancy taking that lot on by yourself?’

Nothing in her tone to suggest she cared too much, but then why should she? Only Brynd was keeping him with them. ‘Yes. Now we’re on an ice sheet… once I let you all get far enough away, I can detonate the devices so as to cut them off. Once we’ve put water between you and them, you’re safe to get back to Villiren.’

‘And you?’

‘We all know about me. Now, line up those devices.’ He painfully steered his horse towards Brynd.

Apium told him briefly of his intentions.

‘That’s insanity. We’ll get you back.’

‘Who’s the crazy one, Brynd? Who’s the one kidding himself?’

The look in Brynd’s eyes said everything that Apium already knew. He didn’t want to fail a friend, but it just wasn’t practical.

‘What do you want me to say?’ Brynd grunted.

‘You’re supposed to commend me on a good plan. At least this way my fat carcass will be worth something.’ Then, seeing Brynd’s expression of dismay, ‘We’re fucking soldiers, Brynd, just pull yourself together.’

They shook hands, holding their grip longer than necessary.

‘Now… fuck off out of here while you still can,’ he wheezed, forcing a smile.

Apium said brief goodbyes to the men, who stared in confusion. Then he accepted the brenna devices from Blavat, who quickly instructed him in their subtleties.

Into the darkness, he rode for a quarter of an hour until he was face to face with the enemy, with nearly every sharp breath seeming penultimate.

He unwrapped all the brenna devices. He dropped one to the ground, hearing it ping on the ice. He turned his horse sideways, dropping the others in as straight a line as he could manage, while the pain became unendurable. He deposited the last brenna device in the snow, knowing they were all linked up in whatever way Blavat had configured them.

From the clinking and rustling sounds, the enemy had begun to approach.

Sliding from the saddle, Apium gave the last-placed device a gentle twist at its top, barely able to see it in the pitch-black of night.

And with snow whipping against him, all alone in this bleak vista, with his lungs finally collapsing, he wondered vaguely what, if anything, would be waiting for him on the other side.

Behind them, the night sky lit up with an unholy fire.

The ice sheets rocked and lurched and cracked.

The survivors were now close to the longships, where a handful of Jamur sentries stood guard. All of them stood watching this last noble act of Captain Apium Hol.

Nelum realized exactly what had gone on, and silently placed a comforting hand on Brynd’s shoulder. A small gesture, but enough.

Tonight they had witnessed real heroism and who would have thought it would be Apium of all people. Chubby old Apium, more interested in carousing than soldiering?

No time for sentimentality. Brynd muttered a bitter prayer for his dead comrade and gave the command to head south.