‘You know, I meant what I said when I said we were lovers,’ Fulcrom muttered.
‘What, you and the commander? I can believe that — isn’t that right, lads? Queer fuckers.’
‘No,’ Fulcrom cautioned. ‘Me and my companion. We’re lovers. That much is true. If you’re going to kill us, I just ask that you don’t burn our bodies.’
‘You think I’ve got the time for that anyway? You’ll end up in the harbour like everyone else.’
That was a relief, at least. Right now, Fulcrom had to put as much faith in what he thought would happen next as he could manage. He tried to recall all that he knew of these matters. ‘Thank you,’ he breathed.
‘What the fuck for? Killing you?’
‘Please, a stab to the heart would be wonderful for the both of us.’
‘You’ve balls, I’ll give you that, inquisitor,’ Malum grunted. ‘See that?’ He announced to the rest of the room. ‘The man faces death honourably. No quivering, no pissing himself like some of the shit-bags you see around this city. Look upon this execution as a lesson in how to go if you ever get to this stage.’ Malum reached for his sword and ordered someone else to stand over Lan, a much younger man — almost a boy. Both of them pressed the tips of their blades above the respective hearts.
‘He needs to move down a couple of inches,’ Fulcrom muttered.
‘What?’
‘Your young colleague’s blade is too high to penetrate her heart properly. I’m guessing this is his first time.’
‘Oh, right, good spot,’ Malum agreed, and gave appropriate instructions to the nervous-looking lad before turning his attention to Fulcrom once again. ‘You got guts, rumel. You could have a place in my operation; we could do with a man like you.’
Fulcrom shook his head. ‘I serve only the law.’
‘Principles, too,’ Malum laughed. ‘What a waste.’
Don’t look at Lan now, Fulcrom told himself. Whatever you do, don’t look at Lan and remember you’ve tried your best. .
The last thing Fulcrom noticed was Malum’s grinning face as he pressed the blade firmly into Fulcrom’s heart, instant pain, the daylight fading from sight, then a lightness. . utter freedom.
A release.
TWENTY — EIGHT
Standing around the cauldron, they watched the battle unfold slowly. Brynd conferred with the Night Guard soldiers, who seemed embittered by their sudden distance — and who could blame them? They were the best of the best, and now here they were, simply watching from the sidelines, humbled by a sophisticated technology. They all knew it wasn’t right.
‘We’ll get down there,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll all have our chance.’
When the engagement commenced, the members of the Night Guard soon forgot their bitterness.
They gawked in amazement, watching from afar as the invasion fleet approached the coast of Folke. Channelling a viewpoint directly above the thick of the action, they stared as thousands and thousands of vessels ploughed straight into the shallow waters, running aground as predicted. Massive doors collapsed into the tumultuous surf, and out spilled thousands more Okun, soon pooling thickly, turning the shallows black.
There to meet them were monstrous creatures, ploughing down the beach or rocky shores in vast swarms that backed up deep onto the land and out of sight. The numbers were so astonishing that the entire scene seemed fabricated, as if it was not happening, and for a moment Brynd contemplated asking to see what was going on from the landing platforms. But, as he recognized many of the landmarks along the coast, he realized this was quite real. This horror was most definitely unfolding on the ground.
For the better part of half an hour, the tide of the battle ebbed and flowed, and it was difficult to ascertain what progress if any was being made by either side.
Brynd glanced at the elders, and at Artemisia standing alongside them, and they were all conferring, gesturing to the maps on the table. Now and then she would stand alongside Brynd to ask his thoughts on troop movements, but it was always in relation to the topography or the weather, as if seeking his confirmation rather than making the decisions with him.
‘Do you feel aggrieved she doesn’t consult you much?’ Brug muttered grimly, as if egging him on for a scrap.
‘I don’t mind that so much. These are her people, after all. Her soldiers.’
‘Her corpses, at any rate,’ Brug replied. ‘Fuck knows how many have died in this first wave. At least they’re getting a chance at glory.’
They both glanced down again, watching the scene remain almost exactly as it had been minutes ago. Line after line of creatures, each rank stretching for miles it seemed, piled in to prevent the Okun from breaching the shoreline and up onto the grassland beyond, but even there, waiting for them, would be more creatures.
Whether it was because of his remoteness from the scene, or perhaps because these were not his people — they were not of his world — Brynd couldn’t help but think of the clean-up operation, removing this many bodies. There were already thousands, and the conflict had not yet lasted for more than an hour.
‘Commander, take a look at this,’ one of his men urged.
Brynd faced the cauldron again. This time, something was flying over — a dragon perhaps? — dropping what appeared to be a liquid over the Okun. A moment later there was a flash. Fire exploded out in dozens of tiny plumes at first and then it became more intense, occupying more of the cauldron’s image, more of the scene on the shore — an inferno — while the flying creature moved further up the coast continuing to release fire.
‘I’d be surprised if anything survives that,’ Brynd said.
‘It’s annoying we can’t see the full scene,’ Sergeant Tiendi added.
‘This is frustrating, commander. When can we get down there to help out?’
‘You think we can help much here? Artemisia’s right, even though it pains me to say it. We’ll engage in our operation soon enough.’
Indeed, the time did arrive for them to begin their operation. After what Brynd estimated to be another hour watching the repetitive carnage, Artemisia invited them around the table with the elders so that they might discuss the final moves. On the table lay maps and technical drawings, some on vellum, some on a slate-like material. Artemisia showed how they delineated the internal structure of the enemy’s sky-city. It seemed vast, a place of habitation much like the one in which they currently stood, as well as housing many separate units, limbs of civilizations ready to detach and drop to the ground. Its purpose was to transport a population through another world, driven by arcane powers that would — she claimed — take too long to explain.
As a result, there were several central structures of importance. These not only housed the population’s noble blood and ruling individuals but also their sophisticated communications, as well as encasing the ‘drive’ that kept the city floating in the sky.
‘That means the most essential targets are clustered together,’ Brynd observed.
‘The dangers,’ Artemisia suggested, ‘of centralized power.’
She pointed out the main access routes — inevitably the hardest part was getting inside, but once they were there, it was much like any other city, with roads and pathways, bridges and so on.
‘And Frater Mercury?’ Brynd enquired. ‘If he is to become our very own weapon, before he self-destructs, we presumably need to get him as close as possible to the central districts?’
‘It is indeed the case. Your wasps,’ Artemisia continued, ‘will certainly help. I did suspect we would have to travel on foot, in the shadows, which would have been a painfully slow option. Now if we can gain speed. . Will there be room for me? No. Perhaps I need to see what fliers we can spare to go with us. Frater Mercury will need transporting.’
‘He can ride with me,’ Brynd said, ‘or failing that, I’m almost certain the wasps can carry small loads underneath them.’