City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [16]
Brynd shook his head and turned away, the three elderly cultists gazing back at them in a line as the soldiers departed. The two Night Guards resumed their patrols of Villiren, pondering if they could actually be of any use. Cultists were notoriously unreliable, unless they came from among those who had links with Imperial networks, and even those they did occasionally work with couldn’t really be trusted. These three in particular seemed like crazies. His plans were best founded on solid facts and good probabilities – so, unless they could manufacture military weaponry of some kind, you couldn’t hope to build a strategy around them.
*
Giant trilobites the size of dogs clicked along the streets, investigatincraps of food. They would lurch back and forth from people’s paths, antennae waving in the air, giving some mild screech of alarm, beforinding some dark doorway in which to disappear. You didn’t gehese creatures much further south than this, and he had missed theiccentric presence. Nearby hung a rack of their shell casings, ready to be sold as decorative armour to people with more money than sense.
Brynd had stressed to Lupus just how important it was to be seen in the city, to be visible at a time like this. People smiled at them, old men patted their backs, young boys watched in awe on seeing the finest of the Empire’s soldiers here to offer support. They had to represent stability, show the citizens that everything would be all right – even if it wasn’t. But everyone here seemed full of calm, and whenever he asked them about the ice, they simply shrugged.
One trader summed it up: ‘Everyone’s got problems, in’t they, commander?’
*
‘You can buy all sorts of junk here,’ Brynd observed, indicating exotic pots, ornaments, chalcedony necklaces, paduasoy scarves. In their craftwork he could discern a mixture of cultural influences, from the tribes of other islands – maybe Folke, Blortath, even Varltung – to ancient designs of the Shalafar civilization, the Máthema who had been obsessed with mathematical precision.
Brushing a hand through his white hair, Brynd said, ‘Odd place, this. I mean, we’re near the seafront, where the streets are older, so you’d think there’d be some air of history at least . . .’
Lupus turned sharply, peering through the crowds.
‘Trouble?’ Brynd asked, his hand casually dropping on the hilt of his sabre.
‘No,’ Lupus panted. ‘Nothing.’
‘Didn’t look like nothing judging by your reaction,’ Brynd muttered. ‘Don’t want another Haust situation here, do we? Can do without you going missing, of all people. We’ll be needing our best archer in the weeks to come.’
Days had passed since Private Haust had disappeared, another reason the soldiers were exploring this neighbourhood. Even if the Inquisition were working on the case, it was still worth keeping an eye out, because there might be some remains to discover, a boot, a strip of ripped material, someone who’d spoken to the victim before he vanished.
Eventually Lupus replied, ‘Was nothing, really. I just thought I saw someone I recognized . . . Apologies, sir. Let’s continue.’
Brynd could see patches of alien stonework now and then, the city betraying its age, a wall maybe that was out of place, buildings that denied the surroundings their coherency. Brynd was constantly assessing the layout of the streets, the vantage points, closed-off zones, those regions which were solid, and those that would eventually crumble. They’d been doing this survey for weeks, in preparation for war. The enemy was reported to be gathering in significant numbers on the island opposite, gearing up for a seaborne invasion. Combat would be here in a city if the surveillance was right, not on a battlefield like they were all trained for.
‘Lupus Bel.’
Brynd looked up curiously; the young soldier seemed to recognize the voice even before he saw her. A tall woman was standing there – though a fraction shorter than Lupus himself. She was wrapped in a