Mark Newton: The Broken Isles

They sealed the level and the group moved up to the obsidian room, the war chamber in which the commander had planned the defence of Villiren. Maps, charts and diagrams were strewn across the table and pinned up on the wall. From here they could see the harbour.

‘Only another couple of floors left before we’re screwed,’ Randur observed as they moved out onto one of the viewing balconies.

‘There’s the roof after that,’ Eir said. ‘From these plans, it doesn’t appear there are many ways to get up there.’

‘They’ll find a way,’ Randur muttered despondently.

‘We’ll have none of that talk, Randur Estevu,’ Eir cautioned. ‘We have held these thugs off for a whole day on our own. We can last a little longer yet.’

Randur withdrew his sword and laid it on the table. ‘I’ll be ready for them, when they come, that much is certain.’

Eir repeated the act with her own blade and laid it alongside his own. ‘We’ll do this together.’

The young soldier, Drendan, entered the room short of breath. ‘Lady Eir, sir, they’re about to breach the next floor, which isn’t as well protected I’m afraid. It doesn’t have the defensive capabilities.’

‘What does the situation look like?’ Randur asked. ‘How many are coming?’

‘There are only dozens of them at this level, compared to hundreds down below. I know for certain the gangs are now moving freely on the floors they have got to — and looting.’

‘I hope the buggers haven’t got into the basement levels — that’s where most of the coin is kept,’ Randur said.

Eir shook her head. ‘The commander ensured that those are kept safe by several relics. It would take a decent cultist an hour to even get access to the room. .’

Just then they heard a droning sound from outside; gentle at first, then something much harsher. It was soon matched by the noise of the crowds down below.

‘What new madness have they found to use on us now?’ Randur said despairingly.

They ran to the nearest window that overlooked the courtyard, where, to their astonishment, men were surging to corners of the courtyard, pressing themselves against the walls.

Two enormous insects — no, two enormous insects with riders — were roaming the courtyard at considerable speed, darting this way and that, lurching from one side to another. People were now screaming in fear as the helmeted riders attacked them, forcing them up against one wall before attacking others. There were explosions every few moments, bright flashes of purple light.

‘Well, that’s an interesting turn of events,’ Randur laughed.

‘What are those things?’ Eir said. ‘Are they some of the new aliens?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Randur replied. ‘They’re helping us, I’ll say that much. Just look at them go!’

The sight was impressive. To see people who moments earlier were charged with violence now running like frightened children was absurdly amusing. It must have continued for the better part of an hour, the chases within the stone confines, the insects sashaying and skittering about with remarkable manoeuvrability. Though a handful stood to resist, there was nowhere for the gangs to run but back the way they had come and, eventually, that’s where many of them went.

Randur and Eir, along with a few of the soldiers, sprinted across to a room that gave them a view of the entrance to the Citadel. There they could see the bulk of the invasion force being scattered across the streets, dispersed back into Villiren.

‘I think we’ve done it,’ Randur said, ‘or rather — whatever those things are, them and us, we’ve all done it.’

Any jubilation was short-lived. Two quick explosions sounded.

‘There are still more within the building,’ Drendan cautioned. ‘There could be hundreds already in the Citadel.’

Another explosion, this one louder, this one clearly signalling that another level was about to be broken into.

Randur closed his eyes and wondered just how much longer he’d be alive. Sure he’d had a few scrapes in his short life, and been in more than one tricky situation, but there was a slow inevitability about what was about to happen.

‘We retreat again,’ Eir ordered.

‘What about. .?’ he begun. Rika , he thought, but then thought now was not the time.

Most of the group, including the cultist, took what supplies they could, blankets and extra layers of clothing, equipment to make a fire, and headed out onto the roof of the Citadel, making sure the way up was blocked and heavily guarded. There was shelter up here, of sorts — high stone walls that acted as relief from the wind. From the crenellations they could observe the situation on the ground, which was now calm after those monstrous insects had done their work.

They set up camp, organized themselves, and started a fire. They bedded down, surrounded in blankets, huddled alongside the fire like the homeless. Randur held Eir in his arms, more than ever appreciative that he had experienced a good and interesting life with her. Three soldiers took watch, their crossbows by their sides, ready to shoot anyone who would dare to scale the roof.

There they waited and prayed for morning to come.

Brynd headed into one of the large towns of Folke, having left the Mourning Wasps on the outskirts.

First the Night Guard had reported back to Artemisia’s elders that all the threats from the Policharos had been eliminated and Frater Mercury had indeed done what he had claimed he would do. Then the remaining Night Guard briefly mourned the loss of their comrades, though there was not time for the appropriate military rituals.

Brynd had peered once again into the cauldrons, and could see that the battle had indeed changed. There was no longer any precise organization to the enemy ranks. There seemed to be little discipline, no communication; the regiments moved back and forth like ocean swells. Yet the allied forces were still sustaining massive losses.

One particularly large mass of warriors was heading along a road towards Lantuk, a major settlement on Folke, a gateway city to the island.

He could watch no longer. ‘We’re going down there,’ he ordered. ‘Within a day it looks as though the onslaught will reach Lantuk. It’s the first big settlement in a chain of large urban areas.’

‘They will drift away within a week,’ Artemisia said. ‘There is no central hub, no more instructions.’

‘Those warriors can still kill, can’t they?’ Brynd snapped.

‘They can.’

‘Then thousands of my people will still die needlessly. We’re going down to stop them reaching Lantuk.’

Artemisia looked at him impassively. ‘As you wish.’

The Night Guard took the Mourning Wasps down and left them a short distance from the moderately fortified city. When the people saw the Empire soldiers approaching the gates, they opened up and cheered in their own soldiers, welcoming them into the muddy central plaza.

It was early morning, and Brynd and the rest of the Night Guard were already shattered. He had dispatched garudas to shift dozens of Dragoon regiments into planned formations, but to plan further he demanded maps of the ground around Lantuk from the library.

With a central citadel not unlike Villiren, and thin crenellated walls, it was a relatively weak position; though it possessed nowhere near the level of defence of a city like Villjamur, its real benefit was to be found in the landscape. Lantuk was fortunate in that the only road to it lay in a steep-sided valley, which meant that the coming hordes would be forced through a funnel of land, a fact that pleased Brynd immensely.

It would make the combat more manageable.

He decided to issue more missives via garudas, informing all Imperial regiments based nearby to travel immediately to the western approach to Lantuk. Certain regiments were to station themselves around the two large hills bordering the road, cutting off any difficult, uphill attacks around the sides. Artemisia’s people, too, would scour the hilltops to prevent any access from above.