The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) by Mark Charan Newton Read Free Book Online Page A

distant glow in the evening sky, Fulcrom gave the order
for people to rest and set up camp alongside the vehicles. Each night he would keep his gaze fixed on the horizon, to check the sky-city wasn’t an immediate danger.
    Fires were lit. Crude tents were erected. Food rations were cooked and issued. Any health problems were dealt with and, now that a team with some medical knowledge had been found, Fulcrom could
prioritize between the most needy and those who could wait a little longer.
    Fulcrom had been heartened to see some of the tribespeople of Jokull, who had spent most of their existence living in fear of the Empire and its people, come forward to offer their help. They
brought hundreds of animal skins for warmth and carcasses for food. It was a gesture that humbled him; he had nothing to offer in return, but it did not seem to matter. The nomads simply handed
over the gifts and disappeared back into the twilight.
    *
    People milled around under the darkening skies and each face that caught the fire looked set in a glum expression.
    Still, at least the shock has gone . Initially many people had been shivering and wailing manically or simply refused to talk. But that stage had now, mostly, subsided into the grim
realization of what was going on. This was now life. They had to get used to it or die.
    In the brief respite from the monotony of travelling, Fulcrom chatted with the few soldiers who had made it from Villjamur, as well as some of the more active political types who had put aside
differences to help out.
    In a way , Fulcrom thought dryly, the anarchists had actually got what they wanted .
    Villjamur was no more. The Emperor was dead. The Council was not so much dissolved as destroyed. This entire convoy, in fact, was comprised of self-organized cells, with power distributed
evenly. Indeed, this was what the anarchists had wanted, but not the level of destruction. Perhaps because of this, or perhaps the sheer acknowledgement that everyone had to stick together, there
were few of the same problems of inequality and exploitation that there had been in Villjamur.
    And Fulcrom’s memories of the city were tainted. He could not forget his own grim experiences towards the end of its existence: being thrown in a cell, his tail being cut off, all because
of the Emperor’s wrath.
    Eventually he settled with some senior officers around a campfire, along with Lan and, finally, Tane. The catman liked to keep aloof in these moments of rest – mainly because he was wary
of his appearance, uncertain of what others would think of him. Tane and Lan no longer had the benefit of their clifftop retreat, no longer had the sanctuary of anonymity. They had to be here, with
people, and that meant they had to confront people’s fear of those who were different.
    ‘Tane,’ Fulcrom called out. ‘Where were you today?’
    ‘At the rear, for the most part,’ he replied coolly.
    ‘Was there a skirmish?’ Fulcrom asked.
    ‘No,’ Tane said, flexing his arm muscle as if it ached. ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle, that is. But people are rather unprotected at the back of this convoy.’
Tane’s voice became louder, less feminine. ‘All the soldiers are hiding at the front, as far away from the sky-city as possible.’
    Two soldiers turned, big guys with a few days of stubble and wearing the colour of the City Guard. ‘What the hell is he saying?’ one of them muttered.
    ‘I said,’ Tane continued, ‘that you’re too fucking scared to stay at the back protecting the vulnerable people – that’s where people are being picked off
– not in big group attacks, but by curious hunting pairs.’
    ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Fulcrom said. Then, to the soldiers, ‘I’m sorry. Please, just ignore him.’
    ‘Ignore me?’ Tane spluttered. ‘These bloody idiots don’t know the meaning of a day’s work.’
    The two soldiers lumbered past Fulcrom, almost knocking him to the floor, and trudged through the mud