A Shout for the Dead (53 page)

'This ship is under the command of the Gatherers.'

'I'm sure it is. Lucky you found a flag in the bilges too, just to make it true. And I have no doubt that you are Exchequer Paul Jhered, just happening through with a hundred cloaks.'

'That is correct. I'll have my portrait sent to you so you don't repeat the error. Open the gates.'

The gateman frowned but found himself again very quickly. 'Every trick in the book has been tried these last couple of days. You could be anyone, you and your hired blades.'

'That is true. But I remain Jhered. Send your commander out here on a pilot skiff and I will show him my seal. I will also be asking him whose orders closed these gates against innocent citizens of the Conquord.'

'It was by order of the Marshal Defender.'

Jhered looked away just for a moment. 'Now you are making me angry. Katrin Mardov is a personal friend. That makes you a liar. And we Gatherers, we hate liars.'

'Hate who you like. I'm this side, you are that side. Back off or I'll have you sunk.'

Jhered gestured and thirty bows were raised and trained on the gateman.

'You will never live to give the order. Now, do the right thing and open the gate. You are a Gesternan, a Conquord loyal. I know you are scared but this ends here.'

The gateman had ducked down so that only his head was showing. It was a target plenty big enough. Particularly for Paulites.

'That's the problem, you see. This port's under what you might call local control now. Can't trusr anyone from what I've heard and some have seen. Dead people walking. Boats full of plague rats. Kirriev is full. We can't take anyone else and all the ships have sailed. Tsardon are coming. You need to find another way home.'

‘I
don't have time for this,' muttered Jhered. 'This bastard would serve up everyone here to the dead and the Tsardon to save his own filthy skin.'

‘I
could warm the gates up a little,' said Mirron. Jhered paused. 'How much do you have left right now? Enough to destroy the artillery as well?' 'Easily,' said Mirron.

'All right.' Jhered turned his attention back to the gateman. 'I'll give you one last chance. Open the gates or I shall open them for you.'

The gateman laughed. 'Oh really? Tell you what,
Exchequer,
I'll give you one last chance. Back off or I sink you. Can't say fairer than that.'

Jhered signalled for the skipper to back-water and the vessel began to move away from the gates. The gateman applauded and laughed again, joined by some of his artillerymen who poked their heads over the protective high walls. Jhered smiled and waved.

'A pity you won't live to tell your children about this,' he said.

He swung away and faced down the ship.

‘I
thought everyone knew your face,' said Mirron. 'You keep on saying so.'

A titter ran through those who had overheard her words.

'And normally, I'd be happy that someone didn't. Today though, marks a big exception
...
Right, Captain! Hold your station at the edge of the exclusion zone. Paulites, I give you command of the archers. I want that bastard resembling a hedgehog and cursing my name as he drops to the water. And I need you to keep artilleryman heads down. Go to it. Mirron, quickest way to open the gates? Knowing that the channel is not deep and we don't want them falling in and obstructing our path.'

Mirron thought for a moment and looked away to the gates and their supports, the artillery and the smoking barrels.

‘I
need fire here too, right by me to get good focus. If I get this right, you won't have to worry about the artillery either.'

'And if you get it wrong?'

'Then we'll be ramming the gates.'

'And what is it you're going to do?'

She gestured at the gates. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled broadly. 'They're metal, Exchequer Jhered. I'm going to melt them.'

Chapter Thirty-Seven

859th cycle of God, 37th day of
Genasrise

Mirron was going to use the path of least resistance, so she said. That meant the air, and it also meant she had to sit up front with no one in between her and her target. Jhered didn't like it but she had assured him nothing would get their range before it was gone.

'And we all know better than to question an Ascendant,' he said.

'We do?' asked the captain.

'Yes, trust me like I trust them. You haven't seen one in action. Just keep the oars going and don't flinch on the tiller. Steady as she goes.' 'Very well, Exchequer.'

'On my mark.' He hurried forward. 'Mirron, you ready?'

He had to stand a few feet away. The heat from the three fire barrels was intense. Through the haze, she didn't look like she was breaking into a sweat, though she might need new clothes after she was done.

'The map is almost complete. I can feel the fires around me and I can sense those on the tower posts. Ohhh.' 'What is it?'

'It's been a while since I tried to amplify so much, that's all. I am ready.'

Mirron was breathing hard. Jhered knew she would be bearing down on a fire construct she was barely able to contain. Soon she would have to release it or let it dissipate harmlessly into the air. Feeding raw fire energies in would catalyse the map and then all she had to do was give it a target. Apparently. Try as he might, Jhered couldn't penetrate the ways of an Ascendant. And despite the regard in which he held the three of them, he couldn't help but feel that they were a step too far on the evolutionary road. As for the rest of them, he didn't know and hence didn't trust them. Gorian was just a bastard murderer who needed putting to death. To Jhered he was barely human, let alone an Ascendant.

Jhered signalled the captain, who gave the order to dip oars. The ship moved forward. His archers were on station, shafts nocked and ready. He stood behind Mirron. Far enough away not to get burned but near enough to drag her away should she get hit. The captain was shaking his head.

'Trust me,' mouthed Jhered and faced front.

Their move back toward the gates had brought instant response. A few men with bows had run onto the gates themselves and the artillery was moving, tracking them, waiting for best shot. Jhered heard Mirron mutter something. It sounded like 'stand back'.

The fire barrels roared. The pitch inside glowed an intense deep red. Flame swarmed inside the lips, coiling and spitting. It settled momentarily. Jhered saw Mirron draw breath in the pause before spears of fire rose from each barrel and plunged into her body. Gatherer archers backed further away. Bows were lowered, the Omniscient invoked.

Mirron juddered inside a sheath of fire. Her arms were outstretched and shaking violently. She glowed in the fire that engulfed her, drawing in its energy, shaping it within her. A mist formed above
her, smoke billowed around her.
Her body stiffened.

Jhered watched her skin rippling under the flames. Mirron's fingers pointed out towards the gate towers. Heat washed across the deck. A baking stillness descended. Just for a heartbeat. The ship's oars dipped, water rippled around the blades. The pace drum sounded. Shouts echoed from the gates. Mirron struck. The barrel fires roared. Columns of superheated air rushed from Mirron's arms and hands, clouds of coiling steam marking their passage. They crossed the space in an instant.

Jhered's jaw dropped.

The barrels on the gate towers exploded. Metal shards tore through man and machine. Flame hung in the air like the talons of some great bird. In front of him, Mirron began to close her arms. He could barely see her through the smoke and fire wreathing her, channelling through her and out over the shortening space.

The claws of flame pounced on the artillery and the stone of the towers, scorching the latter black and reducing the former to ash in moments. No man up there could possibly have survived. With the speed of a galloping horse, the heat surged into the iron gates, driving away loose dust as it raced across the span from both sides.

Steam began to rise from rhe river below. Men on the gates screamed as their clothes smouldered and ignited. They dropped, flaming tears, into the water. The gates began to glow a dull red. The river beneath them boiled. The heat came across Jhered in waves. His brow burst out in sweat. The last of the gatemen, who had had his hands seared to the metal, dropped away. No need for archers. All of them had fallen back, staring at the Ascendant. Jhered could feel the awe 'and the fear.

Quickly the gates went from their dull red through a deep tone to a bright, glaring crimson. Great rending sounds split the day. Joints broke. Rivets melted and popped. Clouds of steam and smoke belched out along the waterline. The river seethed with the first of the drips of yellow-brown molten metal as Mirron's Work gorged on the metal at an extraordinary rate.

What began as a trickle became a thunderous torrent. Right across the failing structure, the iron reached melting point. Lower struts could no longer support the upper weight. The gates collapsed. Glowing yellow metal struck the water, turning to hot slag and sinking away out of sight. Bubbles thrashed on the surface of the river. Steam as dense as the worst Estorr sea fog rose from the impact.

The ship drove on. Jhered was aware of shouting from all around him now the sounds of destruction were lessened. The gate towers were black. Stone had crumbled and torn at the gate hinges. People on either bank were pointing or running away, confusion generating bedlam. The ship's drum beat on. The craft pierced the steam and the bubbling water. Jhered felt the slightest of grazes as the keel scraped across cooling metal.

For a moment, Mirron was obscured from his sight and when the ship broke through the cloud and into the sea dock, she was slumped in front of the smoking but extinguished barrels of pitch fire.

'Water!' shouted Jhered.

Sailors had been waiting. Buckets of sea water washed across the prow of the ship, coiling barrels, scorched decking and splashing over Mirron's naked body. Jhered hurried forwards, unhitched his cloak and threw it over her, crouching beside her.

'Dear God-surround-me, Mirron but that was some show. Are you all right.'

Mirron looked up at him and nodded. Her hair was scorched away but her skin looked glowing, like the fire was still there beneath it. She radiated health, though her eyes were tired and there were crow's feet at their edges.

'I used the last of it to renew me. How did I do?'

Jhered smiled. 'You look beautiful, even in your baldness.'

Mirron brought a hand up and felt her head. 'Damn. Thought I'd worked out how to save that. I'll grow some more when I'm rested.'

'Never mind. Let's get you away from the prow and into some new clothes.'

Mirron looked around her. Jhered knew she was sampling the energies.

'People are angry,' she said. 'Will we get away?'

Jhered stood up with her and held her to him while he took in the dock. It was crowded with people but it was silent as had been the case in the past when the shock of an Ascendant Work settled on those who had seen it. But while every berth was full, the channel to the inlet was open and largely empty. Moored under a cliff face and far from the attentions of even the most desperate of refugees, was the
Hark's Arrow.

Their ship was already turning towards her, the captain seeing her early.

'Yes, we'll get away,' said Jhered. 'You've done a wonderful job.' 'People died,' said Mirron. 'I killed them.'

'You can't blame yourself,' he said. 'They chose their path and we were forced to choose ours.' 'Ossacer will be angry.' 'Ossacer is always angry.'

Mirron didn't laugh. Instead she stiffened and looked away to the south. A whimper escaped her lips. 'Just in time,' she said. 'What do you mean?' asked Jhered. There was distant screaming. 'The dead have reached Kirriev.'

Fifty Ascendancy guard now barred the entrance to the Academy buildings. The heavy doors were shut and bolted behind them.

'Take him to the Chancellery. Lay him on the recliner in front of the fire,' said Hesther. 'Ossacer! Damn it where is he? Ossacer!'

The Academy echoed to the sounds of alarm and frightened action. Hesther could still not believe it herself but she had seen it with her own eyes. The guards carrying the stricken young Ascendant hurried along the corridor past the busts of Chancellors gone. by. That of Felice Koroyan caught Hesther's eye. She felt a surge of fury she was unable to contain. Hesther was ninety years old now. Perhaps she should have known better but at that moment, all the frustrations of the past few days boiled out of control.

While the guards moved on, she stopped in front of the bust. She spat on it, watching her spittle run down that arrogant bitch's nose. It wasn't enough. Hesther placed a hand on the statue's forehead and pushed, hard. The bust toppled backwards and crashed to the floor. That nose broke off. The neck cracked and the forehead sheared. Fragments of marble scattered across the corridor.