City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [119]
Soldiers all around unsheathed theirs in response.
‘You are Jamur military?’ this apparition asked, a grating tone that was almost painful to listen to.
‘Uh, technically, it’s Urtican military now—’
‘Very well. It matters little.’ The speech was slow, as if the intruder was practising the Jamur language from scratch.
‘True. A different wax seal on our orders, mainly.’
‘Quiet, Felch.’
‘Sorry, sarge.’
‘We’ve no business with you, whoever you are,’ Sergeant Howls grunted, advancing slowly towards the stranger.
‘Leave these individuals – the females. Be on your way. No harm will find you.’
‘Impossible.’ Howls scowled. ‘We have orders from Emperor Urtica himself to return these prisoners to Villjamur.’
‘If that is the case,’ the stranger appeared to be in deep thought, ‘then I will have to eliminate you.’
Randur was bemused by the creature’s arrogance. Who the hell is this thing, trying to save us? Not that he was complaining, assessing the size of the bugger. Rather have him on my side in a scrap . . .
‘You’, Howls sneered, ‘against a hundred Imperial soldiers?’
‘It seems unfair. Yes. But I have warned you. Do not say that I have not given you a chance to submit to my will.’
‘Fuck this,’ Howls grunted, then gave a series of quick, sharp orders to his men.
A flurry of activity from the soldiers as they moved effortlessly, with a programmed discipline, along the perimeter of the clearing. Their ranks soon totally obscured the blue-skinned figure, all except for its head. Dozens of arrows began snapping through the air, and Randur could see the edge of the immense blade the stranger had brought with him as its swing-arc became a silver blur.
Everything seemed to happen slowly.
A staccato pinging of metal rang out, and a first line of ten soldiers surged towards the stranger – before they fell rapidly, their bodies ripped and broken. Randur had never heard so many men screaming at once. They moved forwards, they died. This stranger was a deadly presence.
The creature’s blade flashed horizontally, severing two heads. Soldiers on the opposite flank paused in terror.
Blood flecked the snow ever more densely, as further men collapsed, some even dying as they sought retreat, their backs carved open, their spines severed. Without discipline, they now attacked in twos and threes, but gained little ground on the creature, the reach of its blades being so great.
Randur watched in horrified awe.
Screams eventually faded. It didn’t take much to realize what was going to happen. Randur almost willed the next two men to flee, but, with both weapons gripped in one hand, the creature picked up one of the soldiers by the throat with the other, crushing his windpipe with one fist, while he skewered his blades into the stomach of the second. The man dropped lifeless to the ground, the other fell apart in two separate sections.
Several soldiers could be seen retreating into the darkness of the forest, and then there fell a perfect silence, not even allowing the sound of bird-call. Randur peered around for some sign of Munio, but the coward had already made his escape. Munio Porthamis had always been – and perhaps would eternally be – a fucker.
Randur’s heart throbbed as the blue-skinned man turned to face them. With precise steps that showed no regard for the varying depth of snow, the large figure advanced towards them. Don’t say anything stupid, Rand. Not now – not ever.
Their rescuer paused before them, Randur seeing its features clearly for the first time. Its skin was the same shade as purpling dusk, and the eyes lacked pupils so it was difficult to know who it was looking at. There was a gesture made towards the two girls, and Eir stepped in front of her sister.
It said: ‘You are heirs to the Jamur lineage?’
They nodded.
‘Very well. It has taken me far too long to track you down since you fled the city. I am Artemisia, an agent of the Truwisa.’ They stared blankly at him. ‘My words mean nothing to you?’
The women shook their heads, and all Randur could do was stare