The Broken Isles

illnesses or wounds.’

‘What about the plans for resettlement?’

‘We’ve the three encampments here, with three more planned further inland. The Dragoons are heading there right now to set them up.’

‘We shouldn’t remain here for too long. I imagine this could become a front for another battle. The camps should be dispersed as soon as people are recovered enough to press on. Do we have any estimates of numbers?’

‘Somewhere between fifty-five and sixty thousand, at the last survey, but it’s hard to tell with so many small children.’

Brynd cringed.

‘That’s good, surely, commander?’

‘Good that we saved so many; bad that so many must have been killed in Villjamur or are still somewhere on the island, destined to join the dead. There were a good few hundred thousand in Villjamur and the caves alone, plus the refugees outside — not to mention the rest of the island. How many of those died, we’ll never know.’

‘Aye, sir. It’s saddening. We have a few large funeral pyres planned for those bodies that made it over with us. Out of respect, at least, we will get them out of the way tonight.’

‘Do it while it’s still light — you don’t want the people seeing the pyres at night or families will be wailing non-stop. I’d also like riders sent to all the settlements on this side of Folke — they should know what is happening.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘How are Artemisia’s soldiers coping?’

‘Reasonably well as it happens. Your idea for them to deliver and dispatch food aid was a good one — it seems the refugees have accepted their presence, even if they might fear them on first sight.’

‘The way people react to their fear will ultimately define our future,’ Brynd replied grimly. ‘It’s important that, at every given moment, someone from their world is seen to be standing alongside our military or is involved in medical or social assistance.’

‘You’re fully committed to the partnership then?’

‘I’m fully committed to peace,’ Brynd said. ‘You’ve seen the other option available to us.’

‘I wasn’t doubting your orders, sir. We’re all right behind the scheme.’

Brynd glanced at Brug. ‘Do I dictate too much?’

‘Pardon, commander?’

‘I’m no longer just making military decisions,’ Brynd replied. ‘I’m interfering with the matters of an emperor or empress. It is one of the key tenets of the Night Guard not to assist in creating a military ruler. And here I am, acting like one. .’

‘You have the people’s interests at heart, sir,’ Brug said.

So do some tribal dictators, Brynd thought. Even if I consult the Night Guard, that’s a military ruling force making decisions. If Brynd felt awkward making decisions, there was a reason for it — people should indeed be deciding matters for themselves. Just not yet.

‘See to it that the Night Guard muck in with the aid until nightfall, and then we’ll head back to Villiren in the morning. It will do the people’s morale some good to mix with the regiment. And make sure you raise their spirits — just don’t let things get out of hand.’

‘With the poor wine brewed on this island, sir, I seriously doubt they will.’

Brynd made his way up towards the abandoned farmyard, which the military had commandeered as their local headquarters. It was a large, nearly decrepit, whitewashed building, positioned at the edge of an enclosure surrounded by high, dry-stone walls. Old farming implements had been left scattered around the place, tools that looked more as if they were used for torture than agriculture. Troughs were upturned or on their sides; the door of the vast barn had been discarded and, judging by the charring, long set upon by local youths.

A light shower came and went, but brought no snow. Perhaps it was the coastal breeze but the weather seemed less and less like that of an ice age. There were much warmer spells of late and, though it was not necessarily anything more than a hunch, the signs of nature suggested it was more than that: buds were starting to show on dead-looking plants; new shoots had started to form. It made Brynd contemplate yet again whether the astrologers who made their predictions about the long ice age were simply wrong.

He continued along the muddied road that, thanks to the military, had already become well-trodden and slippery. Gloops of mud were thrown up at his black uniform, and he was forced to step up onto the grassier verge, clinging to the stone wall, so that he did not fall in the quagmire.

In the field opposite, cream and brown tents stretched as far as he could see, with little spires of smoke rising from inside them and out. Brynd paused to watch: it reminded him so much of the refugee camps outside Villjamur. There was so much activity here that it seemed some primitive city had been set up overnight. People milled about in between the rows. A priestess was holding her sermon against a small outbuilding. From the look of it, there were even a few people who had begun businesses — upturned crates and made temporary market stalls, and they were selling whatever bits and pieces they had managed to bring along with them.

Brynd continued on his way, until the muddied road went through a zone that had been sealed off, and was for military personnel only. To one side two young soldiers were slouched by a low, dry-stone wall, sitting on two barrels, muttering to each other. For a moment he tried to glean what they were saying about the refugees, and was soon disgusted at the subject.

‘. . One of them even offered to suck my cock for a few coins.’ They both laughed. In a heartbeat, Brynd stormed up to the soldier who spoke, gripped him by his throat and pinned him back against the wall. ‘And what was your reply to her then, soldier?’ he snarled.

‘Commander. .’ the man spluttered. His face was covered in dirt, his eyes were wide. ‘I. . Nothing happened, commander, I swear.’

‘Sir,’ the other man said, ‘he’s full of nonsense. Don’t listen to his stories. .’

Brynd released his grip, listened to their measly excuses and took their names.

‘If you hear of anything like that going on, you come to me first,’ Brynd said. ‘These are our own fucking people — we serve them, or have you forgotten that?’

‘No, sir,’ they said in unison.

‘I’ll personally give a dozen lashes to anyone who abuses any of these refugees — in whatever fucking capacity that shows. I’ll cut your cocks off myself if I have to. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Yes, commander,’ they said, both now terrified, and nodding.

‘Good. Get back to your units,’ Brynd ordered, and waved them aside. He watched them gather up their things and shamble into the distance. Of course, such abuse went on in the army — word spread quickly through the ranks — and there was little he could do to stop it, no matter how hard he had tried over the years. Those in power would always use it in inappropriate ways. He didn’t mind at all if the men, or indeed women, visited whores — he had done it himself, of course — but to abuse the Empire’s own people and take advantage of Villjamur’s desperate refugees was a line he would not cross. It was essential that the people trusted the military. Brynd continued into the run-down farmhouse, which was the new hub of operations.

Although it obviously hadn’t been lived in for years, a little military efficiency had helped: a pile of broken furniture had been stacked outside, while other smaller pieces were being burned in a huge firebox against the far wall. There were flagstones for flooring and a large wooden table, at which Artemisia was seated. Three Dragoons paused, as they strode through the room, to salute Brynd and he returned their gesture.

These were all signs of business as usual, that they were on top of everything.

‘Welcome, commander,’ Artemisia said. ‘Were the people who lived here once all, how is it said. . dwarven? These buildings are not fit for children to stand in, let alone one of your human or rumel people.’

‘You help fight in a battle and a low ceiling is what worries you the most?’

‘It was a good skirmish, was it not?’

She continued to examine the maps and various lists that were strewn across it, and he could see that she had been making notes.

Brynd sat alongside her. Somewhere outside, he could hear someone busily chopping wood. The blue sky in