Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [143]
Dartun paused on the muddied doorstep, his breath clouding in front of his face. In that intense air he felt you could breathe the terror pervading that desolate town. You could feel it seeping deep in your bones, into your blood.
They rode away from the dead town toward their agreed meeting point with other members of the Order of the Equinox. Arriving early, they had to wait there for two days in the freezing cold. Red sunlight forced its way through the fat clouds that obscured these vast northern skies. Everything around them seemed more capacious—or rather as humans they felt smaller compared with the empty environment. Life out here was much harsher than in the city. Nature dominated. Ridges of hillsides sloped steeply, snow slanted perpetually across your vision. It was humbling. Snow-buried tundra grasses stretched for leagues in every direction, punctuated occasionally by thickets of larix or betula. Sometimes a wolf would stray past in the first or last moments of the day, imposing its long shadow over the snow, while overhead the cry of birds—terns, gulls, falcons, and nearer the coast, gannets—would add an eerie chorus that only heightened the pervasive loneliness.
Dartun, however, was grateful for this isolation.
They had almost begun to lose track of the days when Verain spotted three longships approaching up Tineag’l’s western coast, almost veiled in the spray of the surf as it surged on the rough seas. That morning had brought a stronger wind, and with it the weather had taken a more severe turn.
“Dartun, they’re here,” she announced, rousing him as he reclined against a tree trunk, his boots sprawled out in front of him.
“You sure it’s not the Empire’s forces?” he demanded, glancing to the tents in which Todi and Tuung were still sleeping, then over to the pack of dogs who were huddled for shelter beside a windbreak.
“They carry no Imperial banners. And look there.” She pointed as a bright flash of purple light streaked up into the cloud base, like reverse lightning.
“It’s them all right,” Dartun agreed. He paused briefly to embrace her and kiss her on both cheeks. Almost wincing, her reaction indicated she wasn’t that comfortable with his closeness. She was like this from time to time—why then did she stick with him? Could she not leave him because of fear?
Dartun proceeded toward the tent, pulling back the flap to kick Todi and Tuung awake. “They’re here. Get ready.”
The two men groaned. “Not another freezing bloody day,” Tuung complained.
“Indeed.” Dartun reached into one of his bags, drew out a brass tube, stepped outside, and set it in the snow for stability. He took off his gloves and made some subtle adjustments to the dials, then lunged for safety toward Verain as a thick bolt of purple light burst upward with an explosive roar.
Dartun turned his attention to the ships once again. The vessels lurched lackadaisically, like old marine beasts, and were steered shoreward to the source of the signal.
The four cultists and their equipment were pulled down by the sled to the shore with the sleet now driving straight into their faces. They arrived at a rock-littered beach. Dartun dismounted, and stepped over to inspect the boats towering above him in the shallows. Originally hijacked by political dissidents, these three imposing boats had once been based in a military port further south. Military runework was carved into the hulls. On board, several members of the Order of the Equinox were standing ready, looking down at their leader.
“Sele of Jamur!” Dartun shouted above the smash of the waves. “You couldn’t have arrived a moment too soon. Where are the rest?”
The answer to that question came soon enough. Within the bell, five more vessels of equal dimensions had arrived, lining up alongside each other in a haphazard fashion. They had voyaged in small groups, not wanting to draw attention, and had gathered further down the coast to make the last lap to this neglected corner of a fading world. Gangplanks were thrown