City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [102]
Munio remained utterly silent, already knowing this potted history.
‘And the people out here . . . are they angry with the Empire?’ Rika asked.
‘Probably just bitter these days, more than anything. But what can they do? They’ve no control over their own lives. But what annoys me, you know, was back in Villjamur no one had a clue about what was going on here. They just heard the party line about the fringe world from the Council, and never thought to ask questions. The news recovered was exaggerated or incorrect. They assumed that anyone who tried to protest or resist the oppression was simply encouraging evil. Those who objected to Imperial ways were branded terrorists.’
‘If you hate the Empire so much,’ Rika said, ‘why are you now helping me?’
‘Because Eir wants to help you, and if that’s what she wants, so be it.’ He looked across at his love, but she didn’t know what to say to that. He’d already sacrificed a lot for her. It was a dangerous way of thinking – and he knew it – but his love was all he had right now. ‘Besides, you personally have played little role in history, and you yourself know how tricky people in the Council can be.’
‘I believe I can change things,’ Rika said. ‘Once I’m back in Villjamur, back in power.’
‘Best thing you can do, if you ask me, is decentralize that power. Just give the people back the land that was theirs.’
Rika looked thoughtful, and they continued in silence.
*
Down faded paths suffocated by ferns, along steep hillsides with rocks jutting from them like black broken bones. Snow staggered in waves across this hiemal forest.
Near dusk on the fifth day, they decided to take refuge in the ruins of what appeared to have once been a hunting lodge. Constructed alongside a sheer cliff face, it was crowded with spindly ulex plants, and leaned outwards as if the rocks behind had become animated and were pushing it forward. Coloured pebbles were mixed in amongst the masonry, the windows were all long since shattered, and the door was broken – but at least it was shelter.
A storm came, sudden and rough, ripping up the landscape like a wild thing. They lit a fire in the old hearth using sulphur and lime, and Eir, without much idea of what she was doing, began to cook three hares Munio had caught earlier. That was despite Randur’s nervous suggestion that he should continue to look after culinary matters. Rika sat down cross-legged in a corner, soon in deep contemplation. While the old swordmaster scrutinized a map, Randur boarded up the broken windows as best he could, with some fragments of wood. It felt good to be doing this – making some progress, settling in. Jokes shuttled back and forth rapidly between himself and Munio, as they slowly rebuilt their relationship.
They lit lanterns. Inside there were remnants of ornaments, paintings, furniture, riding and hunting implements, but closer examination showed they had all been purposely damaged, leaving Randur wondering at the cause of this destruction.
‘What d’you suppose happened here then?’ Randur lifted a tin plate to examine the decay in the half-light. ‘There are even teeth marks in the metalwork.’
‘Someone must have been pretty hungry,’ Eir suggested. ‘Will our horses be all right, left outside in this weather?’
‘They’ll be fine,’ Randur said. ‘They’ve some shelter out back, and I’ve fed them amply. How’s our progress so far, Munio?’
‘Good,’ the old man said, his face unreadable. ‘Right on schedule.’
‘You sure it’s the most direct path?’
Munio turned and glared at him. ‘We must not stray from this route if we ever want to get there, let alone stay alive. Or do you still not trust this old mind?’
‘I trust you.’
‘Good. Now, do we have any wine left?’
‘You drank the last of it last night.’
Munio grunted, and began studying the map again. He had been very diligent in making sure their progress went according to his schedule, but where this sudden burst of efficiency had come from, Randur hadn’t a clue. Perhaps it was because