City Of Ruin (37 page)

He urged the sisters forward, while Munio lagged behind, forever glancing around himself.

‘Perhaps we should remain here for a while,’ Munio called out, searching for the sun. The skies had cleared momentarily, and the swordmaster was scanning the elements to interpret time and direction. ‘It’s about midday, and we’re well on course. Let us rest a little while. You young things set too speedy a pace for old Munio.’

‘I could still go on for a bit,’ Randur replied. ‘Ladies?’

Eir nodded assent, silent and unreadable. She slid off the horse she shared with her sister and clasped the hilt of her sword. She seemed to be holding on to the blade as if that was all she had left. Every day she practised swordplay, every day she improved. Randur was impressed with how much she’d changed since leaving Villjamur. If only he could have something else to focus on other than worrying about her protection. His mind was falling apart without the distraction of other people and the busy city.

‘I’m fine,’ Rika declared, although she seemed spectacularly fragile. She wasn’t well-built by any means, and how she managed to cope out here in these harsh conditions was beyond him.
Probably retreating into whatever castle she’s constructed in her head with all that spiritual-discipline crap of hers.

‘I’m too old!’ Munio grunted theatrically as he sat down on a fallen tree. There was something unusual about his face as he peered between the trees, towards the sun, then back.

‘What’s wrong?’ Randur asked.

‘Nothing, young Kapp.’

Randur had been feeling paranoid for a while, and the old man’s anxious gaze did nothing to lighten this mood. A sudden rush of noise from within the trees, and Randur spun immediately, drawing his sabre. Nothing was visible but the vacant dampness of the forest, layers of dark brown and green, and the patches of snow.

‘Munio?’ Randur glanced around again. Munio remained seated, his face pressed into his hands.

Breaking twigs.

The clunk of metal.

An arrow shaft thumped into the nearest tree, forcing Rika to jump back, startled.

‘Jamur Rika, Jamur Eir,’ the voice boomed across the clearing. ‘This is Sergeant Howls of the Eleventh Dragoons. A hundred soldiers of the Regiment of Foot surround you. Please, cooperate with us, and let’s be on our way.’

‘Oh fuck,’ Randur grunted.
Imperial soldiers. How could they have tracked us out here?
Eir gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to fight till the end, while Rika stood quiet and resigned.

Soldiers faded in through the forest foliage, cracking back small branches.

A moment later, a lean and stubbled soldier approached. He appeared to be in his forties, with close-cropped dark hair dappled grey. Standing over six foot, his face was every bit that of an experienced veteran, pockmarked and scarred, and with eyes that said he had no time for messing around. ‘Munio?’ he said to the swordmaster. ‘You’re free to go, of course. One of the privates will see about your reward.’

‘Uh, sarge?’

‘Yes, Felch?’ The soldier turned impatiently to one of his comrades, a significantly younger and more cautious character.

‘Spot of trouble on that front. He’ll have to take credit notes because we, uh, forgot to bring all the money from the barracks.’

‘For pity’s sake, just deal with it, someone,’ Howls muttered despondently.

Munio wouldn’t make eye contact, wouldn’t let Randur see his face. The old man held his face firmly lowered in his hands.

The realization dawned on Randur. ‘You fucker. You hand us over, for what?’ Randur made as if to strike him before one of the soldiers stepped in to restrain him, pinning his arms behind his back. Randur strained to break free, his muscles stinging with pain. ‘How much were our lives worth to you, you wanker?’

His wrists were clamped in manacles, as were Rika’s, while Eir was soon stripped of her sword.

‘You said a man can change, young Kapp,’ Munio mumbled, his gaze still to the ground. ‘You can never completely change who you are. I will take my place in this world as a bastard, willingly, and for that I can . . . I can only apologize.’

‘Money’, Howls interjected, ‘is a great leveller, but you three are too young to understand that just yet. Right then, from here you’ll be taken to Villjamur to face charges. I think you’ll know what’s likely – you’ll be slaughtered on the outer wall of the city – and Urtica has asked to perform the task himself this time. I believe, his words were “This is personal”, which means we must keep you alive for the time being.’

‘You realize’, Randur muttered, ‘that we’re innocent in all of this.’

‘Of course you are,’ Howls replied. A smile. ‘Go into any gaol and they will say the same thing.’

Just then a bass groan seemed to deconstruct the air around them.

Suddenly a man – or something resembling one – landed in their midst, collapsing down to one knee to break his fall. His impact with the ground could be felt by all. The figure remained there for a moment longer, head down as if in prayer, a dark cloak enveloping him.

Lithely, he stood up, clearly taller than any soldier there. Seven feet at least, he had long black hair, and his skin was a pale blue, his cheeks so sunken they seemed stuck to the bone. As he scanned his surroundings his eyes resembled two lumps of charcoal. He turned to reveal that he was dressed in exotic military clothing, a metallic X binding him across the chest. Casually, the new arrival withdrew two sabres from over his shoulder, fat blades that were twice as long as any Randur had ever seen, let alone used.

Soldiers all around unsheathed theirs in response.

‘You are Jamur military?’ this apparition asked, a grating tone that was almost painful to listen to.

‘Uh, technically, it’s Urtican military now—’

‘Very well. It matters little.’ The speech was slow, as if the intruder was practising the Jamur language from scratch.

‘True. A different wax seal on our orders, mainly.’

‘Quiet, Felch.’

‘Sorry, sarge.’

‘We’ve no business with you, whoever you are,’ Sergeant Howls grunted, advancing slowly towards the stranger.

‘Leave these individuals – the females. Be on your way. No harm will find you.’

‘Impossible.’ Howls scowled. ‘We have orders from Emperor Urtica himself to return these prisoners to Villjamur.’

‘If that is the case,’ the stranger appeared to be in deep thought, ‘then I will have to eliminate you.’

Randur was bemused by the creature’s arrogance.
Who the hell is this thing, trying to save us?
Not that he was complaining, assessing the size of the bugger.
Rather have him on my side in a scrap
. . .

‘You’, Howls sneered, ‘against a hundred Imperial soldiers?’

‘It seems unfair. Yes. But I have warned you. Do not say that I have not given you a chance to
submit
to my will.’

‘Fuck this,’ Howls grunted, then gave a series of quick, sharp orders to his men.

A flurry of activity from the soldiers as they moved effortlessly, with a programmed discipline, along the perimeter of the clearing. Their ranks soon totally obscured the blue-skinned figure, all except for its head. Dozens of arrows began snapping through the air, and Randur could see the edge of the immense blade the stranger had brought with him as its swing-arc became a silver blur.

Everything seemed to happen slowly.

A staccato pinging of metal rang out, and a first line of ten soldiers surged towards the stranger – before they fell rapidly, their bodies ripped and broken. Randur had never heard so many men screaming at once. They moved forwards, they died. This stranger was a deadly presence.

The creature’s blade flashed horizontally, severing two heads. Soldiers on the opposite flank paused in terror.

Blood flecked the snow ever more densely, as further men collapsed, some even dying as they sought retreat, their backs carved open, their spines severed. Without discipline, they now attacked in twos and threes, but gained little ground on the creature, the reach of its blades being so great.

Randur watched in horrified awe.

Screams eventually faded. It didn’t take much to realize what was going to happen. Randur almost willed the next two men to flee, but, with both weapons gripped in one hand, the creature picked up one of the soldiers by the throat with the other, crushing his windpipe with one fist, while he skewered his blades into the stomach of the second. The man dropped lifeless to the ground, the other fell apart in two separate sections.

Several soldiers could be seen retreating into the darkness of the forest, and then there fell a perfect silence, not even allowing the sound of bird-call. Randur peered around for some sign of Munio, but the coward had already made his escape. Munio Porthamis had always been – and perhaps would eternally be – a fucker.

Randur’s heart throbbed as the blue-skinned man turned to face them. With precise steps that showed no regard for the varying depth of snow, the large figure advanced towards them.
Don’t say anything
stupid, Rand
.
Not now – not ever.

Their rescuer paused before them, Randur seeing its features clearly for the first time. Its skin was the same shade as purpling dusk, and the eyes lacked pupils so it was difficult to know who it was looking at. There was a gesture made towards the two girls, and Eir stepped in front of her sister.

It said: ‘You are heirs to the Jamur lineage?’

They nodded.

‘Very well. It has taken me far too long to track you down since you fled the city. I am Artemisia, an agent of the Truwisa.’ They stared blankly at him. ‘My words mean nothing to you?’

The women shook their heads, and all Randur could do was stare at the blood drenching the stranger’s clothing. Underneath the blood, glimmered material like silver chainmail, yet it was clearly some type of embroidered fabric. Deep cuts severed the material at the sleeves, and there was a gash across the creature’s chin and several scars across the cheeks and forehead, but whatever it was it gave no signs of being in pain, and it seemed perfectly at ease amid the human wreckage.

‘At least it is not my own blood,’ the being grunted, following Randur’s gaze. ‘Or yours, for that matter.’

‘True,’ Randur admitted. ‘It’s just that . . . you know, we’re, uh, not quite sure what to think of some man just falling out of the sky.’

‘I am female . . . And maybe it is best if you do not think of anything for the moment. Now, let us move further into the clearing.’

‘Perhaps’, Randur suggested, ‘you could help get rid of these chains first?’ The creature leaned over, and with an effortless tug pulled the metal apart.

‘Very kind,’ Randur said, stunned at the display of strength.

They stepped across the fresh graveyard, where limbs lay ripped and broken all about them, a glade of the dead. Rika could not bear to lower her gaze.

‘I have been following you ever since Villjamur,’ Artemisia repeated. ‘All in all, this escape of yours has upset my plans greatly. Had you remained inside your little city then the task would have remained simple. As it is, I have had to follow your trail. It has not been easy.’

‘Sorry we inconvenienced you . . .’ Randur offered bitterly. ‘Spot of bother with the business of trying not to die—’

‘You talk too much, Earthlander.’

‘There’s no point in trying to silence him,’ Eir muttered.

Randur grunted. ‘Look, very nice of you to help us out, uh, Artemisia? But . . . any chance of an explanation?’

‘I do the questioning around here, Randur Estevu – if that is still the name you go by.’

‘How do you know my name? And how did you know they were from the Jamur family?’ He nodded towards the sisters.

‘I often wonder,’ Artemisia replied, ‘how it is you people know so little. I employ a network of sub-agents and lower-rank emissaries from your world – even from Villjamur – although they know not who they ultimately serve.’ She pointed them to the spot in the clearing where she had first appeared, and turned her face skyward.

Randur stepped alongside, and followed her line of sight. ‘I don’t see anything.’

Suddenly something flickered into being up there, a hulking dark shape immediately beneath the clouds. The three humans were soon staring, dumbstruck. How could anything so big just
hover
there without falling?

Eir finally broke the silence, as she spluttered, ‘What . . . what is that?’

‘
Exmachina
,’ Artemisia growled. ‘A home, of sorts, for the present moment.’

Eir turned to Randur, to see if he knew what Artemisia was talking about, then shrugged. Rika seemed to be completely in awe of this female giant, which was strange, since she was seldom disconcerted by anything.

Randur studied further the freakish object in the sky. It had the appearance of a small moon, assuming an inverse colour to the sky beyond. As it approached it took on the form of some fat longship, incomprehensibly large, extending widely across the sky. A floating island. Its presence was intimidating and he was becoming genuinely frightened.

Still some distance away, something unravelled down from it to eventually reach the ground by Artemisia’s feet. Then another rope followed.