The Broken Isles

‘This should only go on if their mothers and fathers are made aware of it.’

‘Sod their parents — what’s better than being able to protect themselves in a tricky situation?’

Eir took a deep breath. ‘What’s wrong, Randur? There’s no need to get angry about this.’

‘I’m not angry.’

‘Yes, you are. What’s wrong?’

Randur sighed and made a flamboyant gesture with his arms. ‘Nothing. It’s all right for you. You’ve got something to focus on now, haven’t you? You’re helping out and I approve. This is quite a change from the spoiled little girl sat inside the pretty castle on the top of a hill.’

‘You can contribute here if you want.’

‘It’s not really what I’m cut out for. I want to help with things, sure, but there’s a lot hanging over me.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighed, ‘for one. I’m scared of heading out there — she’s probably died by now anyway. That poison, even though slow, would have got to her by now. And even if not, what do I do — turn up and say I’ve not got a cure, that I’m a failure?’

‘She never expected you to cure her anyway. She packed you off to Villjamur thinking that was best in an ice age. And it was. You met me of course.’

Randur gave half a smile.

‘You know, your sister should be down here too.’

‘She has other things to think about.’

‘Yeah,’ Randur replied. ‘I’m sure she has.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I saw her, the other night, walking around the corridors of the Citadel muttering to herself. Seems as though she’s gone a bit crazy? It’s all because of this thing with Artemisia — it’s gone too far.’

‘You shouldn’t talk about her like that,’ Eir whispered.

Randur moved a hand to her shoulder. ‘You know as well as I do that she’s not the same woman any more. It’s as if she’s smitten by Artemisia and needs her presence, else she just can’t handle herself.’

‘Has Artemisia put her in some kind of trance, do you think?’

‘Who knows?’ Randur said. ‘We’ll never know what happened on Artemisia’s ship, will we? Rika thought that she was a god — despite the fact that most of what Artemisia stands for contradicts the whole Jorsalir thing. It could be mental — or, yeah, maybe Artemisia did do something to her.’

‘Why would she do such a thing?’

‘To help the alliance between worlds? To make sure Artemisia got what she wanted? It could be anything.’

‘I hope that isn’t the case,’ Eir replied. ‘We need Rika to be on her best form if she’s to take the helm of whatever Empire emerges from all of this.’

THIRTEEN

The western coast of Folke was a welcome sight. The sun was rising, illuminating the shoreline. A few birds skittered about the rocky shore before veering out to sea. A thin, flat layer of cloud drifted by above the land. The conditions were as calm as they could possibly be for a landing. Brynd put four of his Night Guard brethren on board, who had acted impressively in getting this hefty yacht cutting through the waters so efficiently. They were not natural sailors, but they had remembered their training manuals to the letter, and now the sails snagged tightly in the wind, and the boat lurched towards the east.

Brynd stood at the bow contemplating the island ahead, waiting to see signs of life.

The military had decided to stay until all civilians were on the sea-vehicles or some reclaimed vessel, and either were now at sea or on the island of Folke. The evacuation had been completed successfully and there had been no more attacks.

Brynd was grateful for that.

‘Sele of the day, commander,’ Investigator Fulcrom said. The rumel then yawned and stretched. ‘Time at sea certainly helps thoughts germinate, doesn’t it?’

‘Indeed, investigator,’ Brynd replied.

‘You seem troubled, commander.’

Brynd gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve been troubled for years; it doesn’t bother me any more.’

Fulcrom smiled. ‘Have you any more thoughts about what we’ll do next?’

‘I’ve done nothing but that. This much is clear to me: while the sky-city remains, I doubt we can form a peaceful future. We can’t build a new multi-racial culture, we can’t decide on how land is to be allocated. We can’t do any of this when we know what it can do. One island was cleansed even without its help, and now Jokull makes two. .’

‘Frater Mercury can pull off a trick or two,’ Fulcrom said optimistically. ‘He could come in handy.’

‘You’re not wrong about him, investigator.’ Brynd now looked towards Folke’s coast. He could just about make out the forms of those enormous horses moving across the fields. They were now unattached to any vehicle and instead tromped about the landscape freely.

‘I noticed you had some assistance from. . well, they were people not of our world. They’ll be useful again, surely?’

‘I’ve no doubts about that,’ Brynd muttered. ‘They’ve not just come here to fight. They want to share our islands with us, too.’

Fulcrom seemed to stare at Brynd for a while, blinking in the morning light. ‘You have doubts?’

‘I have doubts.’ Their ambassador has corrupted our Empress: yes, I have my doubts, Brynd thought. ‘We should prepare to land. Gather your things and,’ he added with a smile, ‘you might want to wake your lady, too.’

He pointed out Lan who was asleep on the deck, under a pile of blankets, the gentle breeze stirring her hair.

‘She’s had a busy few weeks,’ Fulcrom chuckled.

Their boat was forced to navigate through thousands of vessels now abandoned a little offshore and, once through, they sailed the final stretch. Brynd and a handful of his soldiers jumped ashore in the shallow waters and waded the final few feet to land, carrying their weapons and supplies.

Brynd was pleased to see that the military had followed his plans and had everything under control. There were small encampments where names and details were being recorded for any families or friends on other islands, and for official records. Food parcels were being handed out. Tents were being set up in the fields just to the north. Two dragons were flying into the distance, presumably having just dropped off supplies of food or blankets. There hadn’t been much to come from Villiren in the first place — but it showed wonderful altruism that the suffering could find something to give the refugees.

To one side, Lan — the former Knight of Villjamur — landed gracefully. Brynd looked back at the boat where Fulcrom was tentatively disembarking.

‘Did you actually leap from there?’ Brynd called over.

Lan turned to face him. ‘Sure. It’s not that far. When you’ve spent a few weeks clearing the distance between the bridges of Villjamur, this is pretty simple stuff.’

‘And you can fight well?’

‘Well enough,’ she said. ‘Though I was trained more for one-on-one encounters.’

Brynd nodded. ‘We’ll certainly have use of you, miss.’

He turned to watch the shore, where he hoped to see some of Artemisia’s people. Sure enough — and to plan — they were there, carrying supplies and distributing them among the evacuees. To his surprise even Artemisia was helping, lumbering up and down the beach with piles of blankets.

Brynd spotted a shaven head approaching him, fellow Night Guard Brug. ‘Commander,’ he called, ‘everything is running to schedule. Aid is arriving regularly via dragon transport, people are now being treated for serious