The Broken Isles

THIRTY — ONE

More attacks came on their way out. Alarms had been sounded. A defence had been mounted. Soldiers in armour lined certain streets and they had to pull their wasps high to fly over them. Artemisia pulled out another one of her strange field crystals, crushed it for protection; it lasted long enough to stop minor explosives from detonating, and whatever missiles came their way rebounded back to cause havoc.

They lowered themselves to the ground and continued to race along the network of roads.

Though it was harder to steer the wasp with one hand, Brynd withdrew his sword and gestured for the Night Guard to follow suit. Their formation spread out into rows of five now, for greater presence and to intimidate; warriors came at them but didn’t stand a chance: Brynd cleaved this way and that, beheading and then ramming them with the skull of the Mourning Wasp; and as soon as he discovered his steed’s resilience in close combat like this, he gave the signal for others to do the same.

Whenever he identified a block of warriors ahead he ploughed into them at chest height, the wasp’s skull knocking people to the floor rather than up in the air. Many spat blood on impact.

When Brynd saw the corpse of a metal dragon he recognized that they’d reached the zone where three soldiers had been downed; he slowed and began circling the region, but it was too late.

Artemisia waved them on. Back along the roads, back the way they came, back past people and buildings and blockades, projectiles firing from all sides, but their plan was to keep up their speed, racing too fast for anyone or anything to catch up.

A white glow appeared ahead.

They headed towards it.

Fuck. The walls started to stutter in and out of existence, flickering dark and light. What the hell was that?

Brynd lowered his body as close to the wasp as possible and mentally urged it to go quickly, towards the light.

Whiteness engulfed them. The sky opened up. Wind assaulted them. A sign of his concern, he had to remember to breathe, forcing himself to take in air. The platform gave way and his wasp descended down at a severe angle, but eventually smoothed out. Still they flew fast; still he refused to look behind. He heard something ripping behind him and turned to see only half a dozen soldiers alongside. The Policharos was flickering now, almost vibrating in and out of vision.

It happened so quickly. One moment it was there, the next it was drawn into the centre, folding in on itself. The vast, city-wide presence vanished inwardly. Suddenly a blinding line of light shot past towards the horizon, followed by an enormous bass explosion. Brynd closed his eyes and waited for calm.

He opened his eyes again and began to make a slow arc upwards trying to count how many were present: Artemisia, one of her people, fourteen Night Guard soldiers, and that was it.

There was no trace of the Policharos. An absence stood in its place, and various objects or creatures were circling in that vacant space, but now they’d lost all formation and consistency. They began to drift aimlessly.

Artemisia steered the group away, to safety.

They barricaded themselves in a room on the top level of the Citadel that overlooked the courtyard. As the moons glided above the city, they watched the slow progress of those down below, wondering how long it would be until they were freed from the time trap. The noise they generated was audible still, but was now a low, dull mumble, nothing that generated fear or intimidation. They broke bread around a table and served it with cold meats from the kitchen. Two of the soldiers sat with them, more for reassurance than security. Blavat also joined them momentarily. Randur observed this elusive woman who had played such an important role in the defence of the city against the Okun, an event that already seemed a distant memory. She seemed a nervous type and picked at her bread and ate it in tiny morsels. After a while she got up and left.

Eir said, ‘The woman spends so much time on her own that she must feel uncomfortable up here, without her relics.’

‘She’s welcome to bring more,’ Randur said. ‘I won’t say no to some of the more deadly ones on standby. So how long must we wait now, do you think? What will the gangs do next?’

‘They’ll tire at some point,’ Eir observed. ‘This isn’t an organized military campaign. They haven’t thought about the needs of their own, like the commander does so well. Not planned for nourishment and bedding. They will be cold and hungry soon and then they will dissipate.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Randur replied, and stuffed a chunk of bread into his mouth.

They managed to get some sleep, curled up in their same quarters as if nothing was happening. While they rested, the soldiers managed to take it in turns to hold back those intruders who had not been slowed by the relics, but they were in small numbers and more confused by what was going on with their own kind. The act of cultist magic seemed enough to scare some individuals away. Those who came up the ramp to join in the uprising were probably shocked by the absurd scene that presented itself.

Dawn broke, the sun spilling its muted light cast the scene in the colour of blood. Randur woke to the sounds of the gangs being freed from their temporary imprisonment. The noise built up again. The crowds stirred as if they had been stunned. People were trying to make sense of their surroundings again. Though they did not seem to promise the same level as violence as before.

‘Maybe by now they hoped they’d be inside,’ Randur suggested.

‘Their momentum has been considerably slowed,’ Eir said. ‘I wonder if they’re tired now?’

One of the soldiers came to find them to report that all was well and that no further levels had been breached.

‘I guess now we just wait,’ Randur said.

‘Where’re you going?’ Jeza said to Coren, who was standing with his belongings in a case and a sack full of relics over his shoulder.

‘I’ve bought a place, on the edge of the city — a nice place.’

‘Haven’t you heard what’s going on?’

‘What? The gangs? Sure, but that’s none of our business. Well, none of my business at least.’

‘Why’re you leaving?’ Jeza asked. ‘You can’t leave me here.’

‘We’ve got money now, haven’t we? There’s more than enough for each of us to do our own thing. Why hang around? I’ve always wanted to see more of the world. You can come with me if you want.’

She pondered the point for a long while. Things had certainly been awkward since she’d observed Diggsy and Pilli that night, and she’d not even had the guts to say anything, or to act upon her knowledge. ‘Buying a place on the edge of the city is hardly going exploring now, is it?’

‘No, but that’s not. .’ He sighed. ‘I’ve just had enough of this, all right. We’ve fulfilled our contracts. It just feels right.’

Jeza moved over to him and for the first time since she had known him she realized he was someone she would miss being around. What was absurd was the fact that she was the one who should have left by now, but where would she go? The culture at Factory 54 was all she had.

‘I’ve been thinking about it for ages,’ he continued. ‘Sure, the place isn’t quite ready to be filled with drugs and dancing girls, but I’m halfway there.’

Jeza gave a sad laugh. ‘It feels wrong that you’re going right now. I wanted to help do something about the gangs. They’re taking over the Citadel. You know that they used our monster to help plan an uprising?’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘The corpse they bought off us — that’s what they used. They tried to create fear. They made it look as if aliens were entering the city so that they could get the people of Villiren to support them in an uprising. It’s working, too.’

‘I don’t want to get involved in crazy politics,’ Coren muttered. ‘Not my scene.’

‘This politics stuff affects everything though,’ Jeza said in despair. ‘They could take over the factory, take our possessions, take our money, who knows what. Every little move we make in life will change as a result of crazy politics.’

‘They wouldn’t do that,’ Coren replied.

‘They’re insane,’ Jeza said. ‘If they take control of the city, you’ll need to buy yourself a new house somewhere else. The commander had plans for stability. This Malum guy is crazy. I’ve seen the look in his eyes.’

‘Can’t the commander sort it out when he gets back from the battle?’

‘There might be nothing left for him by that point. It could be all over — or worse, a second war for Villiren. I don’t want that.’

‘All right, then what do you suggest we should do about it?’

‘Get the wasps out.’

‘What, precisely, would a few Mourning Wasps do?’

‘We can scare the shit out of the gangs. We can taunt them, maybe move them away from the Citadel, just keep them from causing too much damage. I know we’re in the business of palaeomancy and the likes, but there are a few cheap Brenna-based relics lying around that we can use.’

‘I don’t know. .’

Jeza took his hands and stared pleadingly at him. ‘Just this once, will you help me? One last time.’

The numbers of invaders thinned out during the day but, when darkness came again, the advancing gangs, used to their nocturnal lifestyle, returned in full force. It seemed to be the opposite of siege warfare in the military, whereby campaigns were conducted in the light of day. Now the gangs brought climbing equipment, ladders, ropes and hooks, determined not to be outdone.

Randur gave instructions to make sure the windows were all blocked on the lower level and, from the floors above, four soldiers fired arrows or crossbow bolts at those trying to scale the heights.

Is it really possible to defend this place against so many people?

Another hour passed in which the gangs tried repeatedly to gain access to higher levels, but they were not skilled in the arts of combat like this. Perhaps on a street corner they could dispatch bodies with ease, lurching out of the darkness in stealth, but here their efforts fell apart. Time and time again those who tried to ascend were shot and fell to ground.

Randur almost began to feel confident, up until the point where they began to hear more explosions — first they seemed like fireworks, but then they could feel massive detonations ricocheting around the Citadel. Each was spaced a few minutes apart, and followed by a silence in which people tried to assess the damage. Randur consulted Blavat at this point, but the cultist declared that she had hardly any relics left.

They sealed the level and the group moved up to the obsidian room, the war chamber in which the commander had planned the defence of Villiren. Maps, charts and diagrams were strewn across the table and pinned up on the wall. From here they could see the harbour.

‘Only another couple of floors left before we’re screwed,’ Randur observed as they moved out onto one of the viewing balconies.

‘There’s the roof after that,’ Eir said. ‘From these plans, it doesn’t appear there are many ways to get up there.’

‘They’ll find a way,’ Randur muttered despondently.

‘We’ll have none of that talk, Randur Estevu,’ Eir cautioned. ‘We have held these thugs off for a whole day on our own. We can last a little longer yet.’

Randur withdrew his sword and laid it on the table. ‘I’ll be ready for them, when they come, that much is certain.’

Eir repeated the act with her own blade and laid it alongside his own. ‘We’ll do this together.’

The young soldier, Drendan, entered the room short of breath. ‘Lady Eir, sir, they’re about to breach the next floor, which isn’t as well protected I’m afraid. It doesn’t have the defensive capabilities.’

‘What does the situation look like?’ Randur asked. ‘How many are coming?’

‘There are only dozens of them at this level, compared to hundreds down below. I know for certain the gangs are now moving freely on the floors they have got to — and looting.’

‘I hope the buggers haven’t got into the basement levels — that’s where most of the coin is kept,’ Randur said.

Eir shook her head. ‘The commander ensured that those are kept safe by several relics. It would take a decent cultist an hour to even get access to the room. .’

Just then they heard a droning sound from outside; gentle at first, then something much harsher. It was soon matched by the noise of the crowds down below.

‘What new madness have they found to use on us now?’ Randur said despairingly.

They ran to the nearest window that overlooked the courtyard, where, to their astonishment, men were surging to corners of the courtyard, pressing themselves against the walls.

Two enormous insects — no, two enormous insects with riders — were roaming the courtyard at considerable speed, darting this way and that, lurching from one side to another. People were now screaming in fear as the helmeted riders attacked them, forcing them up against one wall before attacking others. There were explosions every few moments, bright flashes of purple light.

‘Well, that’s an interesting turn of events,’ Randur laughed.

‘What are those things?’ Eir said. ‘Are they some of the new aliens?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Randur replied. ‘They’re helping us, I’ll say that much. Just look at them go!’

The sight was impressive. To see people who moments earlier were charged with violence now running like frightened children was absurdly amusing. It must have continued for the better part of an hour, the chases within the stone confines, the insects sashaying and skittering about with remarkable manoeuvrability. Though a handful stood to resist, there was nowhere for the gangs to run but back the way they had come and, eventually, that’s where many of them went.

Randur and Eir, along with a few of the soldiers, sprinted across to a room that gave them a view of the entrance to the Citadel. There they could see the bulk of the invasion force being scattered across the streets, dispersed back into Villiren.

‘I think we’ve done it,’ Randur said, ‘or rather — whatever those things are, them and us, we’ve all done it.’

Any jubilation was short-lived. Two quick explosions sounded.

‘There are still more within the building,’ Drendan cautioned. ‘There could be hundreds already in the Citadel.’

Another explosion, this one louder, this one clearly signalling that another level was about to be broken into.

Randur closed his eyes and wondered just how much longer he’d be alive. Sure he’d had a few scrapes in his short life, and been in more than one tricky situation, but there was a slow inevitability about what was about to happen.

‘We retreat again,’ Eir ordered.

‘What about. .?’ he begun. Rika, he thought, but then thought now was not the time.

Most of the group, including the cultist, took what supplies they could, blankets and extra layers of clothing, equipment to make a fire, and headed out onto the roof of the Citadel, making sure the way up was blocked and heavily guarded. There was shelter up here, of sorts — high stone walls that acted as relief from the wind. From the crenellations they could observe the situation on the ground, which was now calm after those monstrous insects had done their work.

They set up camp, organized themselves, and started a fire. They bedded down, surrounded in blankets, huddled alongside the fire like the homeless. Randur held Eir in his arms, more than ever appreciative that he had experienced a good and interesting life with her. Three soldiers took watch, their crossbows by their sides, ready to shoot anyone who would dare to scale the roof.

There they waited and prayed for morning to come.