that convinced. Of all the possible outcomes, the most likely would be that nothing happened, that this was all some ridiculous fantasy, and there would, in fact, be no
extra military support coming his way.
‘How much longer must we wait?’ Eir asked out loud. She momentarily looked over to her sister, the Empress Rika, who remained impassive. ‘We may freeze out here –
it’s so very cold.’ The man behind her, Randur Estevu, placed his arms around her protectively and whispered something into her ear, which seemed to warm her up.
Brynd found their affection mildly nauseating. ‘I haven’t noticed.’
‘Your enhancements,’ she said, ‘escape your attention. You can’t feel a thing, I’d wager. Meanwhile our bones will turn to ice.’
‘We’ll take as long as it takes, Lady Eir,’ he declared. ‘Besides, it’s ultimately up to Artemisia as to how long we remain out here.’
The blue giant lumbered into view, bearing down on them. Brynd remained astonished by this alien woman who had burst into their world seemingly from nowhere, bringing the two Jamur sisters, and
offering them her aid. She was wearing typical clothing for these islands: breeches and undershirt, but she wore an overcoat cut for combat, with a body-sculpted, brown breastplate that was adorned
with a thousand minute symbols, none of which Brynd had ever seen in all his travels. Her hair was tied back out of her way, exposing over her shoulder the handles of her swords. She eyed them
curiously, as if she was about to say something patronizing.
Then Artemisia beckoned forth three cultists, two men and a woman dressed in black robes, who were carrying a trunk of relics. She gestured for it to be taken towards the large archway, and the
cultists trudged off hastily, their cloaks fluttering in the breeze.
‘I will know soon enough,’ Artemisia announced, ‘how long it is we must remain out here.’ Whenever she spoke, it seemed all those around her listened. She commanded
respect. Brynd wondered what her position was in her own world.
‘Have you all that you need?’ Brynd asked her.
‘For now,’ she replied.
‘If it carves a path in the wrong direction?’
‘You have your archers.’
‘And if it fails completely?’ he asked.
‘It will not.’
‘But if it does?’ Brynd pressed.
‘Then, commander, it will be because your cultists have tampered with the technology. The theory, as I have stated, is sound.’
Her skills in the Jamur language had improved rapidly, even if her attitude had not.
For the better part of thirty days, she been working with the city’s cultists; each night she returned to the Citadel in the centre of Villiren, where Brynd, Empress Rika, her sister Eir
and the Night Guard were garrisoned, and she brought them relics. For millennia, cultists had monopolized these remnants from the technological glories of the past, even though they often only
barely understood them; and now, for the first time, there were explanations as to their uses. Explanations both logical and full of absurdities. If only he could understand more of what she said.
He wasn’t interested in the theory, but their application – she was promising she could aid his army, and that was all he was bothered about.
So they had gathered in their numbers, here in the Wych Forest to the south of Villiren, to watch her apply this knowledge. What happened here would give Brynd some indication of
Artemisia’s true value to the people of the Boreal Archipelago.
The archway seemed to entrance her and Artemisia approached it with almost a religious fervour. As she retrieved a device from one of her pockets, Brynd stepped alongside her, under the gaze of
the archers on either side.
‘This is the archway then,’ Brynd grunted. ‘It looks a fine piece of architecture, but really – you honestly think this is the place?’
‘Your scepticism does not favour you,’ she replied.
‘You mean does me no favours?’
‘That is
extra military support coming his way.
‘How much longer must we wait?’ Eir asked out loud. She momentarily looked over to her sister, the Empress Rika, who remained impassive. ‘We may freeze out here –
it’s so very cold.’ The man behind her, Randur Estevu, placed his arms around her protectively and whispered something into her ear, which seemed to warm her up.
Brynd found their affection mildly nauseating. ‘I haven’t noticed.’
‘Your enhancements,’ she said, ‘escape your attention. You can’t feel a thing, I’d wager. Meanwhile our bones will turn to ice.’
‘We’ll take as long as it takes, Lady Eir,’ he declared. ‘Besides, it’s ultimately up to Artemisia as to how long we remain out here.’
The blue giant lumbered into view, bearing down on them. Brynd remained astonished by this alien woman who had burst into their world seemingly from nowhere, bringing the two Jamur sisters, and
offering them her aid. She was wearing typical clothing for these islands: breeches and undershirt, but she wore an overcoat cut for combat, with a body-sculpted, brown breastplate that was adorned
with a thousand minute symbols, none of which Brynd had ever seen in all his travels. Her hair was tied back out of her way, exposing over her shoulder the handles of her swords. She eyed them
curiously, as if she was about to say something patronizing.
Then Artemisia beckoned forth three cultists, two men and a woman dressed in black robes, who were carrying a trunk of relics. She gestured for it to be taken towards the large archway, and the
cultists trudged off hastily, their cloaks fluttering in the breeze.
‘I will know soon enough,’ Artemisia announced, ‘how long it is we must remain out here.’ Whenever she spoke, it seemed all those around her listened. She commanded
respect. Brynd wondered what her position was in her own world.
‘Have you all that you need?’ Brynd asked her.
‘For now,’ she replied.
‘If it carves a path in the wrong direction?’
‘You have your archers.’
‘And if it fails completely?’ he asked.
‘It will not.’
‘But if it does?’ Brynd pressed.
‘Then, commander, it will be because your cultists have tampered with the technology. The theory, as I have stated, is sound.’
Her skills in the Jamur language had improved rapidly, even if her attitude had not.
For the better part of thirty days, she been working with the city’s cultists; each night she returned to the Citadel in the centre of Villiren, where Brynd, Empress Rika, her sister Eir
and the Night Guard were garrisoned, and she brought them relics. For millennia, cultists had monopolized these remnants from the technological glories of the past, even though they often only
barely understood them; and now, for the first time, there were explanations as to their uses. Explanations both logical and full of absurdities. If only he could understand more of what she said.
He wasn’t interested in the theory, but their application – she was promising she could aid his army, and that was all he was bothered about.
So they had gathered in their numbers, here in the Wych Forest to the south of Villiren, to watch her apply this knowledge. What happened here would give Brynd some indication of
Artemisia’s true value to the people of the Boreal Archipelago.
The archway seemed to entrance her and Artemisia approached it with almost a religious fervour. As she retrieved a device from one of her pockets, Brynd stepped alongside her, under the gaze of
the archers on either side.
‘This is the archway then,’ Brynd grunted. ‘It looks a fine piece of architecture, but really – you honestly think this is the place?’
‘Your scepticism does not favour you,’ she replied.
‘You mean does me no favours?’
‘That is
Similar Books
Carousel
J. Robert Janes
The Weary Generations
Abdullah Hussein
The Dom with the Dark Eyes
Raven McAllan
Gauguin Connection, The
Estelle Ryan
The Deceivers
John Masters
Black Gate: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 4
Michele Callahan
Horus Rising
Dan Abnett
TheCharmer
The Charmer
Charmed
Emily Jane Trent