Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [102]
Other concerns loomed now in his thoughts, first and foremost the final campaign against the Varltungs. He had to convince Commander Lathraea to be out of the way so that Urtica himself could assume full control of the military. The Empress, too, would need to be persuaded to put her trust in him, but that fitted in nicely with the troubles now erupting on the northern fringes of the Empire. In fact he needed Brynd’s expertise in handling this crisis, so that wasn’t just a lie.
Rika leaned out of the carriage, looked up at the gray sky. The wind whipped her hair around her face as she pulled strands of it back. “Why have we stopped?” she asked.
Brynd rode over, the spires of Villjamur towering behind him on the hilltop, and the sight of the city sparked a thousand memories in her, and she was overcome by a strange sensation in her stomach. This was the home of her youth that she hadn’t seen for years. A part of her that she had almost forgotten about. It was an uncomfortable feeling to realize she wasn’t that same person anymore. A famous ancient scribe had once recommended never returning to a place with happy memories, because it could never be the same. What about bad memories—would they diminish too?
She had to confront the girl—now woman—she had once been, and remember the day she had walked out on her family. Well, her father, anyway, but he was gone now.
“I wanted to advise you of a problem, Jamur Rika, before you approach the gates of Villjamur.” Brynd steered his horse till he faced her directly.
His sinister appearance: burning red eyes, black horse, black uniform, narrow white features belied his true nature. The brooch of the Empire glistened reassuringly on his chest. She had never seen anyone quite like him in her life. There was something about his demeanor that said she was safe in his hands, that he would protect her. It was those things that really mattered, not the color of skin or eyes.
“What is it you’re saying, commander?” she demanded, hoping she sounded very much like an Empress.
“I must warn you there are thousands of refugees outside the city gates. They are hoping to find protection inside the city during the Freeze.”
“And they can’t come in?” Rika said.
Mild regret in his eyes, despite his military firmness.
“No,” Brynd admitted. “It’s been decided there’s a limited capacity for Villjamur once the gates finally close. The city has to protect its own interests during the many years of ice to come.”
“So please stop me if I’m incorrect in my assumptions that no one can come into the city? And these people will die here. In front of us. As we watch on?”
“Pretty much,” Brynd said. “But they’ll die anyway. Meanwhile military personnel will be allowed in and out—or people with the right documentation, of course. It’s the only way the city could last for so long.”
Rika pressed on, “And nothing can be done? Nothing in our hearts can be found for their plight?”
“Not my place to say, Empress,” Brynd replied. “There are many other things I’m involved with at the moment. As soon as I’m equipped and rested, the Night Guard will be leaving to investigate some skirmishes in the north.”
“How significant are they, these skirmishes?”
“Too early to tell, my lady.”
So much for her to take in. She could have done with Brynd staying with her for a while longer, because although alarming on first sight, he radiated confidence, a quiet compassion—as much as any military man could. “Commander, can I trust you?” she said. “I feel … quite vulnerable here. As if people might take advantage of my naïveté.”
“Empress. I was sworn in as one of your father’s favored guard, to be sent on any mission in his name, to uphold his honor. As his chosen successor, you inherit my service also, and that of my soldiers. Of all the Jamur armies, in fact. And as soldiers we’re not paid to think about our orders, and we serve only your word. Though I can fully appreciate how great that responsibility must