Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

He reminded them of the oppression that the military would bring, of the dangers of aliens walking alongside humans and rumels, of what would happen if they failed. He ordered that no one wearing a military uniform be spared, because if the Night Guard did return one day soon, then they would try to free their comrades. There could be no second chances. If they were to free Villiren and maintain a force to protect it against aliens, they would have to do it properly. They’d raid the Citadel’s vaults and make sure people who supported them had plenty of food on their tables to feed their families. Cheers went up again and this time he could barely hear himself talk.

He bellowed instructions. He shouted for them to walk — as one — to the periphery of the Citadel. Then they would try all the entrances and accessible doorways. If that failed, they would use industrial ladders to scale the walls. They would use rope, stone, fire, whatever it took to get inside that building.

Brynd arrived at the sky-city district where the power mechanisms were located, which turned out to be in the same region as the huge multi-storey buildings. As they slowed, more hominids revealed themselves; there were houses here, shops, various kinds of market, people, children, all the elements of a society. What did he think there’d be? These were people, too, but registering this fact didn’t make his job any easier.

Creatures began to call out aggressively; military figures headed into view. He blanked them out and continued along with Artemisia. Had she seriously expected them to come in here in a small team on foot? It would have taken hours, possibly even days and more than likely they would have been massacred.

She hovered her dragon for a moment and Brynd pulled his Mourning Wasp in alongside her, and flipped up his visor. All kinds of strange scents reached his nose, but it was overpowered by a harsh, vaguely metallic odour. He had no idea where it came from. There were people gathered in small enclaves, gaping at them. Brynd checked again to see if Frater Mercury was still there, and he was, remaining as inert as ever.

Artemisia gestured to a path between tall, red-coloured buildings, before riding off. Brynd pulled down his visor and they picked up speed again. Everything blurred past — lights and sounds and people becoming one incoherent assault on his senses.

Eventually they arrived at a junction with immense yet thin honeycomb domes arranged side by side. There must have been twenty or more, all of them a good hundred feet tall. They were silver, with a black skeletal framework, each one lit up in a slightly different shade of purple or violet. Surrounding these was a glossy black floor, utterly bare.

Artemisia slowed to a halt. Brynd steered in next to her and opened his visor.

‘We deploy him here,’ she said.

Brynd was amazed, when it came to it, at how little reverence she had for someone her culture treated as a god.

He leaned over and called down, ‘Sir, now is the time. Could you release yourself?’

Making no acknowledgement of having heard Brynd’s words, Frater Mercury placed a hand on the underside of the wasp’s skull for a moment before the creature slowly peeled away its legs, placing them on the floor one by one, and finally stopping its wings. Frater Mercury slid out and stood up; he rearranged the devices on his person before looking at Artemisia. She spoke in her own tongue for a minute or two, Brynd’s heart thumping with impatience. With her sword she pointed towards the honeycomb towers and Frater Mercury walked calmly, like a priest to a sermon, towards them.

Brynd called out, ‘We will ensure your gesture is not forgotten — we will see to it that people know of who you are and what you did.’

Forget me , Frater Mercury said, without facing him.

Brynd could hear more explosions in the distance, more bells, more chaos.

‘We should make our retreat now.’

‘I want to make certain he heads in there.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘To give us the same amount of time as it took us to get here to make our retreat, in addition to a few more minutes in case of attack.’

‘Then we’ve no time to waste.’ He turned to do a quick head count and confirmed to himself that three more Night Guard soldiers had fallen, though he didn’t know who at this stage. And this was only half the mission. They still needed to get out.

‘Now I am satisfied,’ she said. Frater Mercury was no longer to be seen, lost in the purple glow of the honeycomb towers.

The Mourning Wasps started up again and this time they would take a different formation, riding in threes, as wide as the narrowest street, and in a straight line. They drifted up off the ground, turned in an arc and sped quickly into the alien cityscape.

‘Another dull night,’ Randur muttered.

‘Sorry, sir?’ the guard replied.

‘I said it’s another dull night,’ Randur repeated, leaning in the doorway.

The guard remained impassive. He was a broad young lad, possibly little older than Randur was, and he had stood outside of their chamber now for three nights without saying anything.

‘Wouldn’t you rather be on the battlefield?’ Randur enquired. ‘You know, strutting your stuff, cracking open a few Okun skulls, that sort of thing?’

‘The commander’s orders were for me to remain here,’ the guard replied, looking forward, stood to attention. ‘And that’s where I’ll stay. Sir.’

‘It’s all right,’ Randur said, ‘you can slouch. You can sit on the floor if you must. Want a chair? Don’t stand to attention for my sake.’

‘Orders were to protect yourself and Lady Eir, sir.’

Folding his arms, Randur sighed and peered down the gloomy corridor. ‘See that, down there? Bugger all, that’s what’s down there. Nothing but shadows. Shadows aren’t going to be much of a threat. Why not grab some vodka and join me for a few card games? We’ll keep the stakes low — I know wages aren’t what they used to be. Fuck it, why not head downstairs and open up the Imperial coffers for kicks?’

‘Wouldn’t be prudent, sir,’ the guard replied.

‘Relax, I was joking,’ Randur muttered. ‘Well, suit yourself, anyway. Let me know if there’s any excitement and I’ll give you a hand dealing with it.’

Randur closed the door and strolled back into his chamber. Eir had just finished washing herself after another day at the hospital, and looked thoroughly dishevelled and all the more charming for it.

‘You’ve not been hassling that poor soldier again, have you?’ Eir asked, drying her hands on a towel.

‘He loves it,’ Randur declared, and reclined with a grunt into a cushioned chair. ‘Besides, he’s not lying dead on a battlefield, so putting up with me is a much more preferable situation to that, I’d say.’

‘Randur, don’t speak of the war like that. We could be doing well — it’s just that nearly every garuda was needed — so we simply don’t know.’

‘Yeah, that’s true. Have to give the commander his dues, he knows what he’s doing.’

‘That he does,’ Eir replied.

‘Does Brynd still want you doing this hospital stuff now you’re supposed to be overseeing things?’

‘The commander has no choice in the matter,’ Eir replied defiantly.

‘Well, I guess if you’re the boss, then he doesn’t,’ Randur replied. ‘So, what’s my new position in all of this — did you talk about that before he left?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘As in, I’m your partner, right? So if you were a bloke in charge, and I was your wife, I’d get some kind of duties. . titles perhaps?’

‘Are you angling for a title?’

‘I’d not say no to one,’ Randur declared with a grin, standing up. He sauntered over to Eir’s side and put his arms around her. ‘I have the airs and graces of someone who deserves a title, don’t you think?’