A quarter of an hour later the chancellor sent a request for a garuda soldier. While he waited, Urtica began writing down a list of orders. Eventually one of the city's bird-soldiers entered the chamber. Urtica examined the creature, its white visage startling, even in the dreary light of the room.
You requested to see one of us? the flight lieutenant signed.
Urtica tried to remember the appropriate words and the symbols, what the hand shapes meant, unused to having to read them himself. He was no mere soldier after all. 'Yes, take this order to the military garrison at Ule, Folke.' The chancellor handed the garuda a document. 'Show it to every captain you see. Should my note be destroyed en route, memorize these words: 'At the command of Empress Jamur Rika and the Council of Villjamur, you are commanded to organize a front line facing across the northern and easternmost shores immediately adjacent to Varltung. A total of two thousand troops must be placed in key positions ready to receive long-ships that will set sail from all the military bases on Jokull. Mission summary: ensure total submission of the Varltung race with as few prisoners as possible.' '
The garuda made a harsh squawking sound in his throat. Sir, is this correct? You wish all of them to be killed?
'Who are you to question my orders?' Urtica could see the frustration evident on the bird's face. 'You've been bred specifically for military use, so don't let emotions get in the way. Anyway, we cannot afford to look after prisoners during such times as these.'
So be it, the garuda signed, then gripped the scroll in his human-like hands.
Urtica eyed the tiny feathers that grew on the creature's arms, then looked him straight in the eye. 'Did you memorize those instructions?'
The garuda signed, They are not easily forgettable, sir.
'Good.' Urtica sat down on the chair before the maps and regarded the garuda casually. 'I'll send follow-up instructions, but the scroll you possess contains details of troop allocations and movements, and none of this is up for discussion. Every captain will understand and act accordingly. Now, go.' He waved him away with the back of his hand. The flight lieutenant twisted sharply, generating an unnatural breeze somehow with his body shape, then left the room.
Moments later, Urtica stepped over to a tapestry on the wall, peeled it back. A view of the city was unveiled, and he watched the garuda flying off across the spires and bridges, gliding out towards the east.
Urtica brooded on the predicament. He could tell no one of his negligible manipulations, of course – people just did not like to see the bigger picture. Because of the evidence provided by hired tribal thugs at Daluk Point, this Empire had now been offered an excuse to expand. The loss of a few Night Guard soldiers proved only that they weren't as wondrous as they liked to think they were, the posturing idiots. The Empire now had an opportunity to take more resources, more wood and food and ore, in defiance of the Freeze. They could claim another nation in the east, and this ancient Jamur Empire would become even more glorious.
That was the bigger picture.
TWENTY-FIVE
Starlight was all that was available to guide Brynd around this labyrinth of streets. They turned and twisted at various angles, and Brynd recalled how when he had first explored them years ago, he had been puzzled how they backed around on themselves, always leading him in the opposite direction. A shortcut here, a hidden path there, and you found yourself arriving at unusual junctures, some new territory not only in locational terms but even within your own psychology.
But tonight was different. He knew exactly where he was headed.
There was a permanent ethereal sheen to the stone from which the city was built, and to travellers it would look like some ghost construction, nothing real. He might have been walking in a dream.
He eventually found the right door, knocked, waited. It was answered by Papus herself, the leader of the Order of the Dawnir, clothed totally in grey, with only her face visible beneath her hood, which she held down as she stepped out into the moonlight. Under her chin, her medallion was just visible, though its symbol of an upright palm held no meaning for him.
'I received your message,' she whispered, her words turning to mist in the chilly air.
'Do you think you can help?' A sense of urgency had crept into his voice. Shifting weight from foot to foot in the cold, he rubbed his hands together impatiently.
'Possibly.' She glanced into the darkness behind, closed the door and stepped out into the alleyway.
They continued through the night, stepping over mounds of litter left at the rear of clustered housing, and it took them an hour to make their way to Caveside.
The city docks were used daily by the fishermen who pushed out their kayaks or larger vessels in constant relays, day and night. Each hunted different species of fish from the contiguous seas, sometimes beyond. Their catch fed the city, and despite the closure of the gates, the docks would remain open, now the only free route in and out of the city. Soldiers were stationed everywhere to prevent the smuggling in of refugees on boats. City guards, recognizing their commander, greeted him accordingly. Through a tunnel of houses to his left he could see starlight glistening above the water.
Papus herself had been quiet, preferring silence to conversation, and Brynd was fine with this. He had a lot to be thinking about anyway. They'd worked together before, and Brynd had already told her of his next mission, of his requirements.
Most cultists desired little involvement with Empire business. They were a complete mystery at times, had their own agendas full of hidden intelligence, and the balance of power could shift between their orders overnight, leaving a whole new arrangement to be negotiated. He knew less about their relics, of course, since they used their own methods to keep them secret. They had done so for thousands of years, and some of these orders were as old as Villjamur itself.
He led Papus to one of the large granite buildings at the far end of the harbour, a featureless structure with no windows at the front. He knocked on the door, which was answered by a female soldier from the Second Dragoons. She saluted him.
'Are they here?'
'Aye, commander. Downstairs.'
She stood to one side as the two of them stepped inside. This was one of the military gaols, and they entered a room about fifty paces long lit by four lanterns. Metal bars lined one entire side, behind which waited the figures he had ordered to be brought in.
'Here they are,' Brynd gestured. 'Draugr.'
'Draugr are just myths.' Papus stepped closer.
The imprisoned figures were difficult to see in the dim light, all huddled together against the rear wall.
'We've found them here on Jokull, wandering around aimlessly, though another group attacked my unit earlier – and I noticed one at Daluk Point, though I'd no idea what it was then.' He came and stood next to her, resting one hand on a bar. On the floor was a puddle of black liquid, which he assumed to have seeped from one's wounds. 'One of my men described them as draugr, and he's quite an expert on such things. Anyway, it seems these things were already dead when they attacked us on that occasion, but this lot seem fairly harmless.'
Papus didn't react, merely eyed the group for some time before she said, 'Bring one closer to me. I hardly believe such myths survive on Jokull.'
Brynd called out, and three uniformed women unlocked the gate and, with caution, ushered one of the creatures out. The thing stood motionless as Papus examined it closely, trying to deduce answers. Brynd followed her gaze as she moved the lantern up, down, sideways, skimming light across different parts of the naked torso. This one would once have been a woman, her body now exceptionally anaemic; her skin was stretched taut around bone, so the ribs extruded as if she were a famine victim. Yet beyond minor visual signs of putrefaction, she was still alive.
'Can you tell me anything?' Brynd said.
'Well, this one certainly appears dead.' Papus replaced the lantern on the wall. 'Yes. Quite dead,' she repeated.
