violence. Perhaps it was a confirmation of his own reason for existence.
This business continued for most of the day. What surprised Malum was that there was no definite end to this, no clear finale. Everything petered out. The city was too decimated for its people to understand that they had won this conflict. Though maybe 'won' wasn't quite the right word. It had more or less survived.
What next, though? The city needed rebuilding, reconstructing.
About an hour after the final killings, people began ambling around the city, cutting paths through the aftermath. Civilian soldiers sat on the remnants of shattered structures, utterly depleted. Even children began to emerge from hiding, gazing up at the red sun as if they'd never seen it before.
In his meanderings, Malum at one point came across a shattered mask lying on the ground. He took off his own and suddenly wondered why he always hid behind it. What benefit had it given to his life? And, now that the one woman who sustained his sense of normality with the world had walked away, what did he care for hiding any more?
Malum dropped his own mask in the rubble and walked away.
He was what he was, a vampyr, and he would now make himself king of the new city.
*
'But quit the Night Guard? That's your life… everything.' Beami lay on the bed next to him, her eyes aching with tiredness. 'It's what you do, it's who you are. You're a hero to the people, after you helped save so many lives.'
'This city isn't a place for heroes,' Lupus replied flatly.
All he had done, since they had returned, was stare at the ceiling. So it was over, and that was something. Yet it didn't really feel like an ending.
'There's so much death. That's all there is here. That's all this fucking world brings us, isn't it? You see these creatures invade our land, but that's what the Empire has been doing to other nations for centuries. We tread on them with no regard for their lives, or the way they already fit into the world. I've now seen it from the other side… I used to have a sense of pride in what I did, but there's no honour in any of this.' He paused, breathing deeply. 'I just want to step outside of it all. With you.'
'If you're sure,' Beami replied thoughtfully. 'You realize that if we ever come back it will be exactly the same moment in time as we leave?.'
'Skilled archers aren't all that useful in the construction business, and that's what this city needs now, builders and craftsmen or nurses. Afterwards, destroy your relic, if you want to. Or just hide it, whatever. I'll take my chances in that other place, and even if we can't communicate with anyone else, so be it. I don't bloody care. We've nothing here. Bring all your equipment, whatever you want, and let's make a new start – away from everything.'
*
Beami balanced the legs of the Heimr, twisting the ball at the top. It had been a while since she'd used it, and she felt a sudden inexplicable fear that she'd forgotten how it worked.
They had already gathered their belongings. Lupus didn't have that much, and he mocked Beami for bringing so much. Where was she going to put it all anyway? They had no home to look forward to, so how reckless were they being?
Holding each other tightly, his head on her shoulder, they stood in her desolate chamber in the Citadel. He was much recovered now, and he hugged her more gently than he'd ever done. Every touch was exploratory, as if he was deeply grateful to be holding anyone.
They heaped their possessions in a neat pile around the relic.
'This might be the most ridiculous decision we've ever made,' she observed.
'No, that was when I cleared off to the army. Now I'm leaving the army for you. Think about how we could have saved ourselves so much time and effort.'
She smiled. 'Well, now we've all the time we could want.'
One hand to the relic, one to him, and the Heimr began to pulse.
Time suddenly stretched o-u-t-
FIFTY-FOUR
An end.
But could you call it a victory if around a hundred thousand people had died? Was it really called winning when your own army was nearly destroyed?
Overwhelmed with exhaustion, Brynd had been sitting alone in the darkness of the obsidian chamber for hours. His muscles shivered as a spasm of pain flickered through his body, soon to be overridden by whatever trickery the cultists had developed. Sometimes a messenger would enter to update him, when Brynd hunched forward in his chair and stared at the floor as he listened to them. The few surviving garudas were still flying reconnaissance missions along the coast, but for now, it seemed Villiren held firm. Just then, Brug entered the room, and whispered that Haal had haemorrhaged in the hospital, and died.
'When will it stop?' Brynd sighed.
Brug left the room with a vacant expression, leaving Brynd alone again.
A breeze blew through the open window, disturbing his strategy papers and maps. He let them drift to the floor. No need for maps now. This city would have new streets, and new lines would need to be drawn. Lutto hadn't been seen for days – the cowardly portreeve had probably fled the city long ago. Reconstruction was Brynd's task for the time being.
Images of horror still burned into his mind's eye: severed flesh, pools of blood, the tide of aliens clamouring over their dead… He had heard that other soldiers were experiencing fits as the ghosts of terror haunted their skulls. Grown men reduced to tears. There was nothing in the Empire's military manuals to guide them on this point.
A lack of sleep had dulled his reactions, which was why it took him a while to notice the arrival of Jamur Rika, the former Empress. An immense figure beside her loomed over him, but if this was to be his fate, he was too exhausted to challenge it. A clamour of military indignation behind them confirmed that they had forced their way in.
Brynd did a mental roll-call of the muscles in his body, then sat up. He was more interested in the massive, weird-looking stranger beside the ex-Empress. What is it? He regarded Rika once again. 'Shouldn't you be dead?'
'Shouldn't you, after all that fighting?' Rika replied.
'Probably,' Brynd said. 'So how can I help you?' Looking from Rika to the presence beside her, he noticed a slender young man with ridiculous hair shuffle in. He was accompanied by Rika's younger sister, who looked considerably hardened since the last time he had seen her. She smiled at him, and he mumbled a greeting.
'Who's this then?' A nod of the head indicated the odd figure. The creature must have been at least seven feet tall, wearing a uniform of some kind he'd never seen before. Its material seemed to be bolted together rather than stitched, and those blades she sported looked superbly crafted.
'I am Artemisia,' the giant figure replied.
And it was what came next that shocked him.
*
Context at last, or at least reasoning and understanding.
Artemisia explained that she was one of the Dawnir, though she didn't look much like Jurro. She boldly declared she was one of the god-race. So began a narration of thousands of years of history, and Brynd was not used to being made to feel so ignorant.
*
Randur and Eir had found a room together, nothing fancy, but at least containing a bed. They lay down alongside each other. Randur was still reeling from what he'd seen today. The world was a dark place, but he still had a life to lead, still wanted to get Eir away from all this.
'It's not yet over, is it?' he whispered.
