Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

‘Randur!’ Eir gasped. ‘My apologies, commander. We did our best against overwhelming numbers.’

‘You did just fine,’ Brynd replied. Only now could Randur see just how tired the man was. ‘How long was this going on for?’

‘A couple of nights and days, I’d say? I’ve lost track if I’m honest. It all sprawled into one sleepless night.’ Randur turned to Eir for confirmation and she nodded.

‘Good work,’ Brynd replied. ‘I mean that.’

Randur found himself incredibly uneasy when speaking to a man carrying a severed head. Blood still dripped from it onto the roof and Randur casually moved out of the way of the trail of blood. ‘What are those things?’ Randur pointed to the enormous insects now at the far end of the rooftop.

‘They’re called Mourning Wasps. New form of transport. Very useful in a tricky situation.’

‘Was that you who came earlier?’ Randur asked. ‘We saw some similar things a while ago.’

‘No.’ Brynd’s confusion gave way to a private realization that Randur must mean Jeza and her friends.

Randur looked over to the wasps, which seemed inert, hardly moving at all. He quite fancied having a go on one.

‘The battle — it went well, did it?’ Eir asked. ‘As well as these things can go.’

‘You know the cost of war as well as I do, having seen the remnants in the hospital. Artemisia’s people lost more than we did, since our lines were far behind her own, protecting our towns and our people. But the loss of life was many times what we saw in Villiren. Half the Night Guard has gone.’

Eir opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it.

‘What’re you going to do with that head?’ Randur asked, pointing to it.

‘There are still a few dozen gang types in the Citadel. I’m going to round them all up, show them this head, then place it on a spike by the entrance for everyone to see.’

‘Good advertisement, that,’ Randur admitted.

‘Senior members of the gangs will be executed also. Another warning, another lesson to be given to the people. If we’re to move our culture on, and live side by side with one another, we damn well need to have some respect for the operations of this Citadel or we’ll have riots every day.’

Eir cringed, but nodded. ‘I understand.’

Who exactly was ruling here? Randur reflected.

‘Besides, the man whose head I hold made his trade before the war by putting fear into the lives of the citizens of this city. Good, honest people will want to see his head on a spike. They’ll sleep easily knowing the gangs have been dealt such a blow.’

‘Where’s Artemisia?’ Eir asked.

‘She’s still with her people,’ Brynd replied. ‘They have much grieving to do. We’ll grieve with them also, when the time is right. They gave so many lives in order to save their future — and ours — here, on this Archipelago.’

‘What next?’ Randur asked. ‘Clean up the Citadel, start getting things back in shape in Villiren, help Artemisia’s culture with cleaning up the dead?’

‘All of those things,’ Brynd replied. As he turned away, still clutching Malum’s severed head, he called over his shoulder, ‘And then, we plan for peace.’

There was a knock on the door and Brynd looked up from his desk. Warm morning sunlight fell across legal papers.

‘Come in,’ Brynd called out.

Randur poked his head around the door and sauntered to the chair next to Brynd. He slouched into it and put his feet up on the table. ‘Guess what?’

‘What?’

‘One of the servants downstairs suggested that they’d seen some woman hunched over a corpse near the edge of Saltwater and the Wastelands.’

‘And?’ Brynd asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘You think it’s Rika?’ Randur asked.

‘I don’t know. No one’s spotted her since you unleashed her.’

‘It was a sensible option,’ Randur replied coolly. ‘The gangs would have killed her if they found her — at least she took some of them down on her way out.’

‘Anyway, it’s too early to tell if it’s Rika. There are a lot of strange things in this city. I’ll send out a patrol around the southern rim of Saltwater, just in case.’

Randur nodded his approval. ‘Up to much then?’

‘I’m checking the laws that have been passed recently; copies have been made and I’m seeing there are no errors. Just one rogue scribe and we’ll get all sorts of problems.’

‘Nice clothes by the way.’

Brynd was wearing an ornate uniform, similar to the Night Guard clothing of old, but a paler shade of grey, with greater details and a new emblem on the chest: two overlapping stars. It had taken a few weeks for him to decide on this, but the Night Guard wasn’t the same now it was so depleted. He needed change, for himself as well as the others.

‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready yourself?’ Brynd asked.

‘Probably.’

‘Cold feet?’ Brynd pressed, largely to amuse himself.

‘Nah. Well, yes. I’m not the marrying type — or at least I never thought I would be. And it doesn’t seem right, does it? To be having some posh party after all that’s gone on?’

‘We’re not doing it for the party,’ Brynd said.

‘You don’t strike me as the partying kind of guy.’

‘I know how to enjoy myself.’

‘Sure you do. Anyway, so why are we doing this?’

‘Apart from your love for Eir, obviously. .’

‘Obviously. .’

‘People want to know who’s in charge now, they’re looking up to us, and it’s better they see a pretty young couple holding a massive celebration, with free food for everyone and land to dispense to deserving families. It’s a focal point and people deserve a little good news in their lives. And it looks like you’ve picked a good day for it.’

‘Huh,’ Randur said. Then, looking at the papers, ‘So what’s new?’

‘Nearly everything. We’re starting all over again. We’ve had to encourage new equality laws so that the Newlanders-’

‘Is that what they’re being called?’

‘What, you don’t like it?’

‘A bit bland for such exotics, don’t you think?’

‘The more familiar their name, the better. Anyway, the rights of the average citizen have changed. No matter if you’re rumel or human, or indeed one of the many races that are now to live alongside us, everyone has individual rights unless they surrender those by committing certain crimes. It’s the only way to ensure people don’t start hurting each other. People may cross borders freely. People will be given free land to farm, in order to restock our grain supplies. What’s more, people are free to worship more than one god — Artemisia’s people have many, it seems. People are even free to take sexual partners from the new races, if that’s their wish.’

‘There’s a niche for everyone,’ Randur declared.

‘As long as it is not abusive — rape laws have had to change accordingly. And due to accommodating the new cultures, men may bed with men, women with women. There are permits for those who wish to take more than one husband or wife, but that will be examined carefully.’

‘More than one? Why would you want extra grief every day?’

‘As you so often say,’ Brynd continued, ‘everyone has their niche. Now, go on, get ready. The priests are coming soon. Put some decent clothes on — if you’ve got any.’

‘Just because you’ve got yourself some fancy new kit, don’t go getting ideas above your station. If anyone does fashion well, it’s Randur Estevu.’

A phenomenal number of species gathered at the ceremony, which was held on an enormous stage in front of the Citadel. Brynd had ensured the setting was as resplendent as could be, without being too ostentatious. Most of the money would be spent on the thousands of tables of free food and drink that would be laid on throughout the city. It had taken a while to stockpile, and wasn’t as perfect as he would have liked, but it was a bold and important gesture, and the city responded positively. The stage was decorated in red and gold cloth, with elaborate yet humble craft items and ornaments gathered about the stage. Brynd had even taken down Malum’s rotting head from the spike so it wouldn’t make the place stink or put people off their food.