City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [182]
Suddenly, a scuffle broke out in his own ranks, and being the senior officer, he made his way across to investigate. Despite the new sword being so unfamiliar and heavy, constantly getting in his way, he did well to maintain his dignity as he approached.
‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Jeryd called out to them across the street.
A rumel soldier was engaged in a brawl with a couple of humans. By the time others arrived to break it up, the young rumel had a broken nose and was bleeding heavily.
‘What do you think you’re doing? There’s already a war on, without us fighting amongst ourselves.’
One of the humans, brushing himself down, yelled back. ‘You rumel, you’re the ones that’s invading. You’re the fucking enemy. We always knew there was something wrong with you lot and now look. A load of you hanging about with weapons. Fuck should anyone trust you?’
Bags stood by Jeryd’s side, levelling a crossbow, but Jeryd eased him away. ‘Get back, lad. That’s just what they want.’
He turned back to the humans. ‘We are defending Villiren, by order of the Empire. We are on your damn side, and you come here trying to harm us. As if this city hasn’t seen enough death already.’
‘Fuck you, rumel,’ the human snarled and made offensive gestures, then ran off into the darkness. If things are this bad here, how bad will they be in the tunnels with Marysa? Bohr, I hope she’s all right.
*
An elderly man tripped and fell, dropping his bags on the muddy floor. Marysa helped him to his feet then his family came to thank her. Soon they were lost again among all the others.
Slowly, they all shifted through tunnels lit occasionally by storm lanterns or torches. It was like some lower region of hell. Now and again there was a sound like thunder overhead, though the only clouds down here were those of fear and misery. To think, this was considered the safer option, she thought. I wonder how Jeryd is coping with the storm above.
As they shuffled forward monotonously, occasionally the network of tunnels would open out into a vast cavern, where the remains of some ancient settlement was in the process of decay. Towers and spires rose a good forty feet high, examples of perfect symmetry, punctuated by windows only visible now as bold shadows. In the light from the lanterns carried by Villiren’s fleeing populace, these structures seemed both eerie and awe-inspiring.
Stunned and delighted, she recognized some of the architectural embellishments as characteristic of Máthema, therefore tens of thousands of years old. Never in all her years of archaeological study had she seen anything quite like this. Down here there was no rough weather to wear them down, which must explain their good condition.
If only I could remain here for a while . . .
Progress had been fine until the city’s notorious gangs had arrived on the scene. Sauntering along in their hundreds, and pausing to fight with their rivals, they had become a constant obstruction. Marysa was disgusted that these fit and healthy men – and women – chose to flee their city rather than give help to the armies up above. Hoods hauled over their heads, garish masks to hide behind, they pushed their way ahead with no respect for others. They flaunted their weapons simply for the fun of scaring people, who were already frightened enough.
Up ahead of Marysa, a woman began wailing hysterically.
As she approached through the murk she could see a blonde woman huddled on the floor, cradling a young child in her arms.
Just then a man in a sinister red mask approached and crouched down to speak to the distraught mother. Marysa paused, feeling self-conscious about watching the pair, as people flowed around them with their carts and luggage.
Is he going to harm her?
‘What happened?’ the man asked.
The woman was silent for a while, refusing to speak. There was fear in her eyes, as if she recognized him, and after the man asked again