Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [45]
“Surely a campaign against the Varltungs is unnecessary—and likely to be unsuccessful, too? We’ve tried that before, several years ago. Decades, in fact. And what about the Freeze? You want to deploy all these men at a time when so many refugees are clamoring to get into our city?”
“Exactly so,” Urtica said. “We must strike them fast and hard, and in a sufficiently damaging way that makes sure they can’t counterattack for the foreseeable future.”
“I would think the ice age means all this is pointless?”
“Not at all. Because of the Freeze, because of all these years of being locked away, we’ll need those islands kept safe for our future generations.”
Brynd said, “And you’re so confident that any of us will survive at all?”
“Times will be very difficult, commander, and of course many may not survive. We don’t even know the potential extent of the icecap. But it is possible that people will indeed survive, and safeguarding those islands would guarantee them the best possible chance of survival after the ice retreats.”
Chancellor Urtica had donated a few luxuries and a considerable sum of money for the brief journey—all of ten Jamúns’ worth of the latter, broken into smaller coin: Sota, Lordil, Drakar. Brynd couldn’t help feeling a bit suspicious, but accepted these supplies courteously. Perhaps he is just trying to make me feel better after losing so many of my troops.
They set off out into the cold gray morning.
Two pterodettes arced in the sky, their shrill cries penetrating the quiet of the city. Behind them they left the ringing of the hours for morning worship, the smell of breakfasts from assorted dining halls.
Waiting at the front entrance to Balmacara were the four men he had chosen. Stood by their immaculately prepared horses, patiently waiting to leave. Staring up at the sky, Apium was sitting on a black gelding alongside a vast, gleaming carriage which the new empress would travel in. The other three Night Guard soldiers, none of whom had been at Dalúk Point, were talking together quietly: fit, young, ideal for such a casual expedition. The two blond men were Sen and Lupus, twenty-six and twenty-two years old respectively. They could have been brothers, both lean, both tall. Both with those cutting blue eyes. Something almost wolflike about their appearance. They had risen dramatically through the army because of their talent, and they respected Brynd above all others. Brynd valued Sen particularly since the lad was easily the best swordsman he had ever trained. He constantly worked on developing his skills, so Brynd would lay money on him being the finest swordsman in the Empire within a year or two.
Nelum Valore, a heavily built black-haired man, was a little older. Should have become one of the Imperial academics, but he preferred life outside of musky chambers. Said what you could learn from books could be learned from the real world too. Brynd admired that quality, and made him one of the youngest lieutenants ever serving in the Night Guard. The man rarely discussed his Jorsalir beliefs, either, and the commander didn’t know what to make of his dedication to gods he couldn’t see.
These four were the best of the remaining regiment. In full uniform, black on black, the seven-pointed star glistening on their chests, they stood to attention, each with his left hand resting across his stomach.
“Sele of Jamur,” Brynd greeted them. “We all set to go?”
“Yes, sir,” Sen replied for them. “All weaponry’s been fixed to the carriage and we’ve got our rations inside. Lupus arranged for the vehicle to be thoroughly cleaned overnight, so it’ll be good enough for whoever it is intended.” This last statement hung in the air, hoping for an answer.
Brynd peered underneath the carriage to confirm four crossbows and four spears were fixed to the base between the axles. Short-handle axes were there too, and none of those extra