Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

Eir burst into laughter. ‘Even if you do say so yourself. Randur Estevu, I’ve got a name for you-’

A knock on the door.

‘What is it?’ Eir asked, stepping away from Randur, as if to appear more professional.

The guard poked his head around the door. ‘Um, Lady Eir, one of the other Citadel guards has just come to me with a report of a little trouble outside.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘A mob, my lady.’

‘Well, what does this mob want?’ Eir enquired.

‘Not entirely sure right now, I’m afraid. Just an initial report of a massed gathering approaching the Citadel.’

‘Nothing inherently wrong with that,’ Randur observed. ‘It’s a strange city. People have their little meetings. Reckon it’s something to do with the gangs?’

‘There are well over a thousand of them, sir,’ the guard grunted.

Randur whistled. ‘Reckon we should take a look?’ he said to Eir, with enthusiasm. ‘Could be a little excitement. Hey, could be a big brawl!’

‘Randur!’ Eir protested. ‘You shouldn’t be excited at such things.’

He waved a hand. ‘I could do with some entertainment. I’ll head up onto the roof to get a better view.’ He turned to the soldier. ‘You up for a little excitement?’

‘It might be advisable. .’ the guard agreed. Randur swore he could see a glint of excitement in the lad’s eyes. No one deserved to be this bored in life.

Randur reached for his sword, strapped it firmly to his waist, slung on a long overcoat and buttoned it up to his collar. ‘Sure you don’t want to join us?’

‘I’ve had a long day,’ Eir replied. ‘I’ll let you boys play combat.’

‘Very decent of you,’ Randur smiled.

‘What’s your name?’ Randur asked as they jogged along the corridor.

It felt good to get a little blood pumping through his veins again, to have something to do. He half hoped there would be a serious situation, if merely to relieve himself of his boredom.

‘Private Drendan, sir.’

‘Drendan,’ Randur repeated. ‘So what exactly did you see?’

‘Well, it could have been the gangs, sir, but it could have been something more serious.’

They trotted along and up the many flights of stairs until they managed to reach the rooftop. The soldier, much fitter than Randur due to his military training — and Randur’s own laziness — reached the door well before Randur. He opened it and allowed Randur to step through first.

A strong wind hit him as he ventured out onto the roof of the Citadel. He immediately faced the sea, and Drendan guided him to the side of the building that faced the danger.

‘Over there, sir.’ Drendan pointed to a few buildings immediately to the south, where a cluster of people were loitering. Randur followed his outstretched arm, struggling to see in the poor light of dusk. At the base of a tall building, by an alleyway, he could see a group of young men, each of them carrying some kind of weapon. On the other side of that building, another few men could be seen brandishing swords. Then over to the next building, and the next, and so on, until Randur concluded that nearly all the streets behind must be filled with people.

‘What do you suppose they’re playing at?’ Randur asked.

‘This is serious trouble, sir.’

‘Yeah, you might be right. They’ve not come at the Citadel yet, have they?’

‘Not yet. But they might be doing so as we speak.’ Those individual clusters began to drift slowly forward, coalescing into a massive crowd, one that promised to be larger than the Night Guard homecoming not that long ago.

‘They’re heading this way,’ the soldier observed.

‘What should we do?’ Randur asked.

‘We fortify the Citadel.’

‘How many is we exactly?’

‘There are several soldiers who have remained here.’

‘Several. Several soldiers against fuck knows how many of them.’

‘The Citadel is well built, sir.’

‘It had better be,’ Randur muttered. ‘Come on then.’

When they were safely within the heart of the Citadel, Drendan saw to it that all potential routes of entry were locked, the main doors barricaded, the portcullis, which rarely saw use, was lowered, and all windows on the lower floors — not that there were many — were sealed and boarded. It took less than ten minutes, and all the while the noise of the crowd outside began to intensify.

They held a quick meeting with most of the military personnel present, as well as Eir, who was annoyingly optimistic about their odds.

‘So we have seventeen men — and myself,’ Eir said. ‘Not to mention we have quite a few of the administrative staff, each of whom could be given a sword and not remain idle. There’s also that cultist, Blavat I believe her name is, who spends most of her time experimenting in the basements. I’d say that puts us in a better position than we thought previously.’

‘She has a very good point,’ Drendan said.

‘I could try reasoning with them first, however?’ Eir offered.

‘Too dangerous, my lady,’ Drendan said. ‘My limited experience suggests an angry mob isn’t in the mood for negotiation.’

‘If this is the case,’ Eir said, ‘one of us must use one of the underground exits to get a message out via garuda, to locate Brynd wherever he is and to inform him that the city is under threat.’

‘Any ideas as to the numbers out there?’ Randur asked. ‘At least a thousand, right? So how can we possibly hold them off? Come to think of it, why the hell are we under siege in the first place?’

‘From what I can gather, it is gang-led violence. Some of their anti-Empire chants suggest that they are against our rule.’

‘They picked the right bloody time for it,’ Randur said, ‘what with the Night Guard away.’

‘This sounds more of a planned effort,’ one of the older guards said, ‘if they waited for the main forces to go, leaving us defenceless. It is a cold and calculated attempt to remove a major Imperial structure.’

‘That means they won’t stop until they’re inside here,’ Drendan said.

‘Not on our watch,’ Randur declared.

‘Agreed,’ the old guard said. ‘We are sworn to you, Lady Eir, to protect you and your seat of power.’

‘Oh, give me a sword, for Bohr’s sake. I can protect myself.’

Randur smiled and handed her his own blade. ‘That she can, lads — she had one of the best in the Archipelago teach her.’

‘Are you certain, Lady Eir?’ The guard had a genuine look of concern. He was clearly of a generation that wasn’t used to noble ladies knowing their way around a blade.

Eir pointed the tip of her sword towards him. ‘I have never been more certain in my life. If this Citadel falls, I shall go with it. It is important that this building remains — it is the hub of everything that Commander Lathraea has worked for. It contains Imperial wealth, food stores, documents relating to distribution of monies from the bank, the allocation of grain. . I could go on, but I hope I get my point across. This building must not fall .’

‘Yes, Lady Eir,’ the soldiers muttered as close to unison as they could manage.

The Citadel was built with defence in mind. The walls were high and, unless you possessed special powers, relatively non-scalable. It was built to an old design, redesigned, hacked back, and new sections added with the same stone so, over the years, it was impossible to know what was left of the designer’s original vision. Old-style grates were available so that hot oil could be poured down over those assaulting the main door, and this task was left to two soldiers. The crenellations provided adequate cover from which to launch arrows at those attacking. Someone managed to make contact with the cultist, who reluctantly agreed to lend some explosive relics to the cause.