Before Brynd could brief the members of the Night Guard, and to suggest they use cultist enhancements on their weapons when they woke, he called in on Rika and Eir. They were in another chamber in the Citadel, a vast space that had been hastily decorated and cleaned out of respect for them, so that they could have somewhere to be at peace. Richly decorated with highly polished wooden furniture, lavish tapestries and an immense, ornate fireplace, it was once used as the former portreeve’s bedchamber. Incense burned in one corner, making the room feel calming. Eir was standing by a small washbasin, and turned to regard him, though Rika remained seated.
He greeted them and informed them of his intentions.
‘You should,’ Rika said, ‘remember to inform me of such things first, before making such bold decisions in my name.’
Like hell I should. . ‘Indeed, and for that I can only apologize. You see, we had to act urgently. I’ve hardly had time to breathe.’ Brynd gave a short bow of apology, not his most sincere, he had to admit, before glancing to Eir. He noticed then that there were stains on her arms. ‘Is that blood on your skin?’
She glanced down self-consciously. ‘Oh, no. . well, technically yes, this is blood, but it isn’t mine. I’ve been helping out in the city and I didn’t clean myself up properly before I left. That’s why I’m at the basin.’
‘What were you doing?’ Brynd asked.
‘There is a small hospital near Port Nostalgia, which needed some assistance, and I offered my help. I’m not exactly doing a lot around here. I wanted to do my bit, so I’ve found a small role helping to nurse some of the injured from the war. Suffice to say it is rather different from the role I am used to. .’
‘It isn’t fitting,’ Rika hissed, ‘for a girl of your position. Our blood must ensure it stays out of such affairs.’ There was something vaguely animalistic about the way she tilted her head.
‘Did you not do similar things as a priestess?’ Brynd enquired. ‘Surely Jorsalir clerics assisted in such matters?’
‘They did,’ Rika replied. ‘That was then. . But times have changed.’
‘I’m certain the people of the city would appreciate the gesture,’ Brynd continued, and Eir smiled proudly back.
Rika, on the other hand, looked as grim-faced as ever. Her expression lacked any of the serenity of her youth.
‘When you have finished your next mission,’ Rika said, ‘I have commenced establishing laws and legislation so that we are set for rebuilding my father’s Empire.’
‘Now might not be the best time to mention this,’ Brynd began. ‘I’d hoped you would have wondered why there are so many of the Empire’s people on the road. I thought you had been briefed.’
‘No. No one has told me anything. Speak.’
Brynd told them about Villjamur. That it was no longer there. That citizens urgently needed to be evacuated, which is where he was going first thing in the morning.
Clearly distraught, Eir sat down with her head in her hands. ‘All those people, dead. .’
Rika declared, ‘Which means we must rebuild as quickly as possible. We must harness the power of citizens to fight and to fund our efforts.’
Brynd wasn’t sure if he agreed with her or if it confirmed in his mind how she was developing into a deeply inappropriate leader. There were none of the qualities he hoped for. Perhaps she had inherited her father’s madness.
‘I’m sorry to bring such news, but I’ll do everything within my power to see our people are brought to safety. I’ve seen to it that enough resources — both in terms of personnel and rations — are being diverted accordingly. Ships have already set sail with cultist-enhanced grain, to cope with what may follow. I’ve dispatched messengers to settlements with major ports to release all seaworthy vessels to our cause. I don’t quite know what to expect when we arrive, but hopefully all of this will catch up with us, and be enough to guarantee survival.’
‘Shouldn’t you be there already?’ Rika demanded.
Brynd held his sigh from being too audible. Would the woman not give up? ‘I’m investigating swifter methods of transport, Lady Rika.’
‘Very good.’ Rika gave no further indication of her mood.
‘Look after yourself, commander,’ Eir offered, with a look of concern in her eyes. ‘You’ve done nothing short of help prop up the remnants of. . of this culture. Stay safe. We’d struggle without you.’
‘I haven’t scheduled any immediate plans to die just yet,’ he replied with a wide grin. ‘But thank you and, please, excuse me.’
He began to back out of the room.
When he reached the door, he heard Rika call out, ‘See that you do get them back and spend as little as you can. We will need what money we have to allow full integration with Artemisia’s people.’
‘You’re keen to see integration is smooth?’ Brynd stepped back in the room slightly.
‘We shall see that we keep our promise — I feel our people, too, must pay their fair share of their own future.’
You, in your new guise, will make not only a poor leader, but also a dangerous one, Brynd thought as he left the two sisters in peace. He continued along the dusty stone corridor, fuming. With such reckless ideas, she’ll be usurped within days. I can’t allow that to happen. .
Tonight he could finally dispatch three soldiers on horseback to Factory 54 with the deposit of money to pay for the new Night Guard armour. What the group would do with such cash was anyone’s guess, but by now he had realized these were not normal youngsters. They had acquired a knowledge beyond even some cultists. Perhaps because they were not like ordinary cultists, he actually started to believe what they said.
Brynd paced back and forth behind windows at the front of the Citadel, quietly fuming at what had become of the Empire. His entire life had been spent building it up — to see it trashed so quickly was frightening, he had to admit. The sound outside the window indicated his soldiers had returned. He looked down out of the window as they drew up at the front of the Citadel with a cart. Dozens of vast crates were stacked on top; the soldiers began unloading them and hauling them into the Citadel. He went to see the delivered product and a few other Night Guard soldiers sauntered in, curious as to what the commotion was about.
‘What’s in the boxes?’ Brug asked.
‘An experiment.’ Brynd opened one of the crates. Inside was the soft glimmer of their new black armour, each piece — be it a helmet or a breastplate — bore a white, fist-sized seven-pointed star of the Empire. It was a nice touch.
Our very own shell. . A shudder went through his body at the thought of it: that the things which contributed towards so many deaths would now become their new form of protection.
It was an impressive development from the previous version he’d seen; they had worked quickly, too. He lifted one of the lightweight pieces of armour and placed it over his own head and body. He adjusted the straps around his ribs. It fitted the contours of his body naturally and felt as if he was wearing nothing heavier than a waxed raincape.
‘Looks impressive. What’s it made from?’ Brug asked, rapping the armour.
‘Just a new alloy,’ Brynd replied. ‘Cultist enhanced — I’ve been doing a little digging into new suppliers. Here.’ He handed one over to Brug who seemed braced for something heavier, and made an expression of surprise at its light weight. He marvelled at the texture, at the craftsmanship, and began testing it for rigidity. A few others filed in behind him, curious.
‘Incredible,’ Brug said. ‘You can’t even see any joins. This thing robust?’
‘Why not try for yourself?’ Brynd drew his sabre and offered it to Brug. Rubbing the back of his shaven head with one hand, he took the weapon, then stepped back to take a more formal combat stance. Brynd readied himself and tensed: just like Coren had done at the factory, Brug gave a tentative prod at first, poking the blade into the armour, then commenced with firmer strokes. Having placed his faith in the technology, Brynd merely smiled. Some of the others began laughing — even Brug, who eventually stopped his assault.