Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

The lads seemed to like that. They hollered and cheered. They banged tables and shook their blades in the air.

That’s more like it , Malum thought.

They were getting used to the flying. That morning, as the Night Guard ascended high above the Y’iren countryside on board the dragons, none of them vomited. They were travelling in smaller numbers than before, to make room for the Mourning Wasps. Four travelled per cage, subdued by a small chemical treatment that Jeza had provided. There was a stimulant to wake them fully before they were required to be used.

Brynd stood over them watching curiously. He was concerned with whether or not they could be used in battle and that his men had complete control. In his brief conversation with Artemisia that morning, he had confirmed the tactics required for the forthcoming operation.

At this time enemy forces were preparing another sea invasion with the sky-city, aiming to slam into the coast of Folke with their trademark ferocity. Brynd’s and Artemisia’s combined forces were making their way to that western coast at great speed in order to meet the threat. As for the enemy, they would comprise dozens of races, many of which Brynd hadn’t encountered and, therefore, he couldn’t assess their strengths or weaknesses. This made tactical decision-making awkward: he could advise his own people on their tried and tested formations. They had an advantage from knowing the best ways to navigate these islands, the most effective terrains on which to fight. He also communicated with Artemisia about the effectiveness of her people, which made planning a little easier, but what they would actually face was still unknown.

Artemisia had conceded that command would be his — up until the point where he and his Night Guard soldiers would escort Frater Mercury into the sky-city.

Given Artemisia’s numbers and estimated figures for the enemy, there could be up to two million lives on the field of battle. By now, he liked to think his numbness to death, and the fact that not all of them were humans or rumels, were the reasons that he was not intimidated by these numbers. Yet no matter how he looked at it, his decisions would probably contribute to the biggest loss of life ever to have been witnessed on these islands.

Artemisia had given instructions to fly to a specific destination. Having studied maps of the island of Folke, she said that there would be a vessel in the sky above a particular coastal lagoon, which was not to be attacked since it carried her own elders. There would be a docking platform on which the dragons would land. She stressed that the vessel was a place of great importance for her culture, and that he was to think of it like a floating cathedral.

That place was where they were now headed and, despite the occasional gust of wind that rattled the cages, all was as calm as it could be. The Night Guard were looking resplendent in their new, black armour — as intimidating a sight as any Okun.

The landing came suddenly. Brynd marched to the back of the container, as one of the others unlocked the hatch, unhooking the landing ramp, and opening it.

‘Bohr. .’ someone in front of him muttered. ‘What the hell is this place?’

‘Artemisia’s so-called cathedral in the sky, I assume,’ Brynd replied cheerily. He marched down the ramp, into daylight, no longer surprised at the fact that nearly every new experience these days left him in awe.

Some hundred feet long and just as wide, the platform was bordered by an ornate, green balustrade. It was large enough to fit at least five dragons and their dismounting troops and was crafted from the same greenish stone, very much like marble. Brynd crouched down to assess the material and saw that gemstones had been pressed flat in its fabric. Beyond the balustrade, everything was lost to cloud, so it looked as if they were on another world entirely. He turned around and gazed up a cliff face of architectural elements. He could understand why Artemisia had compared it to a vast cathedral. Huge pillars disappeared into the cloud. Massively ornate gargoyles stood either side of long balconies, on which there were people in blue and red robes standing, observing them. There were at least three arched doorways nearby, each one high enough to accommodate a dragon stretched tall. It was cold up here — and there was the groaning sound of a strong wind, yet little of it seemed to reach the platform; it was as if they were protected from the elements, but there was no shelter.

Brynd turned to see Artemisia heading towards them, strapped up in full battle gear, her sword handles poking above her shoulders.

‘Welcome, commander!’ she bellowed. ‘Your arrival is an honour. This is Ekkpolis , our most important vessel.’

‘It’s enormous,’ Brynd replied.

‘This is true, yes,’ Artemisia said. ‘You are on the first of ten such landing. . harbours? Bays?’

‘Landing bay would make more sense in Jamur.’

She nodded firmly. ‘Yes, landing bay. There are nine more, and this is the smallest.’

‘What is this structure precisely?’

‘It is where we accommodate the most important members of our civilization. Come, let us not talk out here. Bring your soldiers.’

‘I wanted to show you something first.’ Brynd took Artemisia back to one of the dragons and up the ramp to reveal his new weapons — the Mourning Wasps.

Artemisia looked impressed, which was saying something for her. Brynd explained that the Night Guard intended to ride the creatures instead of horses, and discussed the advantages this would bring.

‘Narrow spaces, different altitudes, and all at high speed. I don’t think they cope well with long distances, but they’re certainly an improvement in all other aspects on our usual military horses.’

She nodded, thoughtfully. ‘This will be useful, very useful,’ she said. ‘It may change our plans perhaps. We will talk more of this inside. We must now refine the final tactics. These. . Mourning Wasps’ — she stressed the name slowly, as if to commit it to memory — ‘will help us when we need to enter our enemies’ inner sanctum.’

They headed back down the ramp and on to the platform. There, they progressed as one unit inside the Ekkpolis .

Once inside, it no longer felt as if they were in the air. What struck Brynd most about the Ekkpolis was not how alien it was, but how normal it appeared. Admittedly, there were sophisticated alien technologies obviously running in the background, but the layout, structure and function was much like a grand building found in the Archipelago.

As Artemisia escorted the Night Guard soldiers through the main doors, they headed on to a large street, which led through apartment-style blocks. Here it was generally dim — lighting coming from a few large torches and a thin skylight.

The buildings were made of varied materials, a stone like granite, but possessing more interesting textures; there were shimmering sheets of white stone, fat bricks with precious stones pressed into the surfaces. There were ornate signs in a language Brynd could not understand, though he vaguely recognized some of the symbols from the military camps, so he guessed they represented clans or families.

Clusters of humans, of all ages, peered over their balconies to watch the Night Guard as they were escorted past their homes. Further along there were stalls lining the streets, though there were no basic goods to be found here — these were craft items, jewellery, decorations and the like. A few people meandered underneath beautifully textured awnings, but there wasn’t any of the energy of their own irens; people wore morose expressions, there was no haggling, and barely any coin being exchanged.