harmed unless they were loyal to the Empire.
Though much of this was hasty planning, Malum needed to make the most of this opportunity. It was important that such positions were taken out one by one before the rest of the surge could move forward. It meant they could storm the Citadel without anyone forewarning them. Once the Citadel was under his control, then he could go on with the rest of his plan.
Malum had already begun contemplating a vague manifesto. He had some vague notions of protecting people from the Imperial skirmishes, which would be easy enough to do once he had the people on his side, but then he knew he’d have to think about other matters such as employment and prosperity, things that people would rightly care about. His gangs would issue true protection — for a fee from those who could afford it. Once he was in command, he could use an old trick of the former portreeve — issue a new property tax: that way he would force those with a little power and wealth to submit to him. He’d also have to employ people who could deal with all the paperwork.
Malum looked up from his musings.
He could hear his people outside — the gangs and those they had brought to their side. They were making a lot of noise. He stepped outside to greet them. Instantly, those closest in his gang stepped to his side for his protection, but he quickly leapt up on a barrel to address the gathered masses. It was a wide street, and people were rammed in thickly. From one end of the street to the other, they had come together to rebel against their Imperial rulers and make a show, to give the impression that a powerful force would soon be in charge. Many had come carrying torches that flickered strongly in the calm breeze. Others brandished their swords above their heads like some tribal clan.
They cheered as soon as they saw Malum and he basked in their adoration for a while. He finally held up his hands for calm, which took a while to settle down.
He reminded them of the oppression that the military would bring, of the dangers of aliens walking alongside humans and rumels, of what would happen if they failed. He ordered that no one wearing a military uniform be spared, because if the Night Guard did return one day soon, then they would try to free their comrades. There could be no second chances. If they were to free Villiren and maintain a force to protect it against aliens, they would have to do it properly. They’d raid the Citadel’s vaults and make sure people who supported them had plenty of food on their tables to feed their families. Cheers went up again and this time he could barely hear himself talk.
He bellowed instructions. He shouted for them to walk — as one — to the periphery of the Citadel. Then they would try all the entrances and accessible doorways. If that failed, they would use industrial ladders to scale the walls. They would use rope, stone, fire, whatever it took to get inside that building.
Brynd arrived at the sky-city district where the power mechanisms were located, which turned out to be in the same region as the huge multi-storey buildings. As they slowed, more hominids revealed themselves; there were houses here, shops, various kinds of market, people, children, all the elements of a society. What did he think there’d be? These were people, too, but registering this fact didn’t make his job any easier.
Creatures began to call out aggressively; military figures headed into view. He blanked them out and continued along with Artemisia. Had she seriously expected them to come in here in a small team on foot? It would have taken hours, possibly even days and more than likely they would have been massacred.
She hovered her dragon for a moment and Brynd pulled his Mourning Wasp in alongside her, and flipped up his visor. All kinds of strange scents reached his nose, but it was overpowered by a harsh, vaguely metallic odour. He had no idea where it came from. There were people gathered in small enclaves, gaping at them. Brynd checked again to see if Frater Mercury was still there, and he was, remaining as inert as ever.
Artemisia gestured to a path between tall, red-coloured buildings, before riding off. Brynd pulled down his visor and they picked up speed again. Everything blurred past — lights and sounds and people becoming one incoherent assault on his senses.
Eventually they arrived at a junction with immense yet thin honeycomb domes arranged side by side. There must have been twenty or more, all of them a good hundred feet tall. They were silver, with a black skeletal framework, each one lit up in a slightly different shade of purple or violet. Surrounding these was a glossy black floor, utterly bare.
Artemisia slowed to a halt. Brynd steered in next to her and opened his visor.
‘We deploy him here,’ she said.
Brynd was amazed, when it came to it, at how little reverence she had for someone her culture treated as a god.
He leaned over and called down, ‘Sir, now is the time. Could you release yourself?’
Making no acknowledgement of having heard Brynd’s words, Frater Mercury placed a hand on the underside of the wasp’s skull for a moment before the creature slowly peeled away its legs, placing them on the floor one by one, and finally stopping its wings. Frater Mercury slid out and stood up; he rearranged the devices on his person before looking at Artemisia. She spoke in her own tongue for a minute or two, Brynd’s heart thumping with impatience. With her sword she pointed towards the honeycomb towers and Frater Mercury walked calmly, like a priest to a sermon, towards them.
Brynd called out, ‘We will ensure your gesture is not forgotten — we will see to it that people know of who you are and what you did.’
Brynd could hear more explosions in the distance, more bells, more chaos.
‘We should make our retreat now.’
‘I want to make certain he heads in there.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘To give us the same amount of time as it took us to get here to make our retreat, in addition to a few more minutes in case of attack.’
‘Then we’ve no time to waste.’ He turned to do a quick head count and confirmed to himself that three more Night Guard soldiers had fallen, though he didn’t know who at this stage. And this was only half the mission. They still needed to get out.
‘Now I am satisfied,’ she said. Frater Mercury was no longer to be seen, lost in the purple glow of the honeycomb towers.
The Mourning Wasps started up again and this time they would take a different formation, riding in threes, as wide as the narrowest street, and in a straight line. They drifted up off the ground, turned in an arc and sped quickly into the alien cityscape.
THIRTY
‘Another dull night,’ Randur muttered.
‘Sorry, sir?’ the guard replied.
‘I said it’s another dull night,’ Randur repeated, leaning in the doorway.
The guard remained impassive. He was a broad young lad, possibly little older than Randur was, and he had stood outside of their chamber now for three nights without saying anything.
‘Wouldn’t you rather be on the battlefield?’ Randur enquired. ‘You know, strutting your stuff, cracking open a few Okun skulls, that sort of thing?’
‘The commander’s orders were for me to remain here,’ the guard replied, looking forward, stood to attention. ‘And that’s where I’ll stay. Sir.’
‘It’s all right,’ Randur said, ‘you can slouch. You can sit on the floor if you must. Want a chair? Don’t stand to attention for my sake.’
‘Orders were to protect yourself and Lady Eir, sir.’
Folding his arms, Randur sighed and peered down the gloomy corridor. ‘See that, down there? Bugger all, that’s what’s down there. Nothing but shadows. Shadows aren’t going to be much of a threat. Why not grab some vodka and join me for a few card games? We’ll keep the stakes low — I know wages aren’t what they used to be. Fuck it, why not head downstairs and open up the Imperial coffers for kicks?’
