Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

They passed through what he took to be civilian areas; there were hominids, but not humans or rumels, alongside taller, fatter, more grotesque and exotic creatures, whose own noises were weirdly animalistic. Everyone here was panicking. Groups of figures in military-style uniform emerged onto the scene but only after the attack group had passed. As his eyes settled into the darkness he could see buildings defined against the black roof; tall structures that must have been over forty storeys high.

A noise behind drew his attention to two-legged creatures lumbering at the rear, and gaining on their group, but Artemisia’s people had this under control; in an instant they peeled back from the flight pack, withdrew their swords and hacked at their pursuers’ legs. He heard a faint scream blend into the distance before they were too far out of range. Then artillery — arrows and spears — began to whip by above his head at a ferocious velocity. Artemisia reached down to her side, picked up a small glass sphere, held it above her head and crushed it; immediately there seemed to be a field of translucent light around them and the projectiles aimed their way clattered against it before falling uselessly to one side.

The group rounded several corners at high speed and after that there were long straights; the surroundings were a blur; only the looming buildings in the distance remained in focus. If Brynd remembered correctly then they’d only have a short distance to go now, possibly another mile.

The drones of the wasps prevented him from hearing the attack that suddenly occurred: three metallic dragons crashed into their force field; one of them seemed electrified with static and fell away, taking with it their defences. The other two dragons attacked and dispersed their group. At least two of the Night Guard were sent reeling and clattering to the ground. Brynd looked down to note the area in the hope that he might pick them up on the way back.

He could not stay and fight but had to go straight on and hope that as many of his own could keep up with him. A glance over his shoulder and he saw there was no right flank now. It had been totally decimated — three of the Night Guard and one of Artemisia’s lookalikes gone.

The group quickly re-formed around Brynd and his precious cargo. There seemed to be some kind of bell being rung. Lights flashed close by. Strange objects lurched in and out of view. He had no idea what was going on at times. It was all happening too fast to register. Artemisia still led the way, true to her word, and all he could do was follow.

‘It’s a shame,’ Malum muttered to his gang members. They had just returned from disposing of the bodies in the harbour — just like he said he would. For some reason, it seemed the least he could do. ‘I almost liked the guy, despite the fact that he’d expose us. How did you find the killing, boy?’

‘All right,’ the lad replied. He refused to make eye contact, despite Malum’s best efforts. He was only eighteen and Malum was conscious that his nervous nature, his great uncertainty, needed training out of him sooner rather than later. The lad had been a runaway, had spent most of his time working in a decrepit bistro on the edge of the Wastelands, and had only recently come into Malum’s gang because he was scared about aliens threatening their way of life.

‘It gets easier,’ Malum replied, and placed a fatherly arm around him. ‘You did a good thing. You helped progress our cause. You did that for the city — you just remember that. You’re protecting people. It’s hard to see, but it’s like an elaborate, strategic game. Every little move doesn’t seem much at the time, but when you see it in the context of the game, it all becomes clear. You helped with a great move, an important defensive one. I’m proud of you. Hey, aren’t we proud, guys?’

The other men in the room suddenly erupted in cheers, and Malum pushed the boy into their masses so that he could soak up some of their energy.

It had been a productive day, Malum concluded. Despite the minor disturbance earlier, he had managed to muster a decent number of fighters, around four thousand in all, which would be more than enough. What made him most proud, though, was that these were largely people who could have sided with the commander, but who chose not to. They were committed to Villiren, not him. They wanted a city free of alien intent, and they would draw blood to have it so.

Evening came. Both moons remained low in the sky. A relatively warm breeze drifted across the rooftops of the city. The night seemed full of energy and promise. The gathering masses in the street outside brought a huge sense of pride to Malum.

He had been disappointed that those cultist youths could not provide a living monster in time for his needs. Monsters would have been ideal to cause havoc, or to use in convincing the citizens that their lives were under threat. Perhaps the military had warned off the youths, Malum couldn’t be sure — but one thing he knew in life was never to piss off people who dabbled in relics.

A couple of minor explosions detonating in the distance gave Malum reason to smile.

His plan benefited from a simple fact: the military were now out of the way. He hadn’t expected them to leave the Citadel completely unguarded, but his rag-tag army of four thousand would be enough to deal with whatever had been left. There were watchtowers and a few guard stations scattered throughout the city, which about now were being overcome. He had sent groups of youths with crossbows, machetes and munitions purchased from cultists to deal with such stations. He had ordered them to show no mercy. As of now, they were engaged in the business of war. Anyone wearing an Imperial uniform was to be killed outright, and no citizens should be harmed unless they were loyal to the Empire.

Though much of this was hasty planning, Malum needed to make the most of this opportunity. It was important that such positions were taken out one by one before the rest of the surge could move forward. It meant they could storm the Citadel without anyone forewarning them. Once the Citadel was under his control, then he could go on with the rest of his plan.

Malum had already begun contemplating a vague manifesto. He had some vague notions of protecting people from the Imperial skirmishes, which would be easy enough to do once he had the people on his side, but then he knew he’d have to think about other matters such as employment and prosperity, things that people would rightly care about. His gangs would issue true protection — for a fee from those who could afford it. Once he was in command, he could use an old trick of the former portreeve — issue a new property tax: that way he would force those with a little power and wealth to submit to him. He’d also have to employ people who could deal with all the paperwork.

Malum looked up from his musings. All that can wait , he told himself.

He could hear his people outside — the gangs and those they had brought to their side. They were making a lot of noise. He stepped outside to greet them. Instantly, those closest in his gang stepped to his side for his protection, but he quickly leapt up on a barrel to address the gathered masses. It was a wide street, and people were rammed in thickly. From one end of the street to the other, they had come together to rebel against their Imperial rulers and make a show, to give the impression that a powerful force would soon be in charge. Many had come carrying torches that flickered strongly in the calm breeze. Others brandished their swords above their heads like some tribal clan.

They cheered as soon as they saw Malum and he basked in their adoration for a while. He finally held up his hands for calm, which took a while to settle down.