A Shout for the Dead (62 page)

The palace was quiet now. Academy and palace guards were at every door and were on the walls and patrolling the grounds. Noise filtered up from the city. Rioting was still going on. Fires marked the night. The slap of feet on cobbles was the only regular sound from within the walls as surgeons and soldiers did what they could to help the injured and give respectability to the dead.

'We can signal the Ocetanas,' said Gesteris. 'The invasion beacons are lit and our defences will be prepared. The Ocenii squadron will not let a single ship make land here.'

Jhered paused at the door to the Academy. A guardsman held it open for them.

'Why did Roberto send you back here?' Fresh anxiety was flowing in Jhered. A realisation that he did not want to face. 'Why did the Sirraneans give you the powder? What do they know?'

Gesteris took his arm and they walked inside. The door closed behind them. Inside, the corridors were bright with lantern light. Bodies had been moved but blood still marked floor, wall, bust and painting.

'Roberto went to the Gosland border because the Sirraneans said a Tsardon force was headed there. We are pretty sure others were moving towards Atreska too. We'll be all right. We have sound defence in both places, great men will be in charge. I think you need to calm down.'

'And I think you need to understand what we are facing here. This is not some simple invasion by an enemy we know. You cannot kill what is already dead.' Jhered shuddered afresh. 'Marcus, I have tried to fight them. I have struck
my
gladius through the heart of a walking dead man and he came at me again and again. Everything we know about warfare, about legions and phalanx, archer and gladius. It's all useless.'

'Paul, come on—'

'Listen to me, Marcus! Think. If we fight them one on one, every man of ours they kill swells their ranks. We have to stop them moving because they move day and night. Catapult, fire and Ascendant. That's all we have.' Jhered walked on towards the Chancellery. 'Pray the Advocate gets back soon. We have to know the Conquord strength of arms and we absolutely have to find Gorian. We encountered him once and we couldn't kill him. But he is the key.

'This is terrifying, Marcus, believe me. Because he can control dead armies on three fronts, have no doubt about that. And that bitch Koroyan has managed to kill at least four of our weapons and murdered our best mind.'

'But if they really are coming on three fronts, we don't have the strength of artillery, we don't have the Ascendant numbers and we

certainly won't have enough powder. How can we stop them?' asked Gesteris.

'Exactly. If we can't find and kill Gorian, we are lost. And the sand in the timer is running very low.'

Chapter Forty-Three

859th cycle of God, 42nd day of
Genasrise

General Dina Kell reached her decision and despatched fast riders to connect with the Conquord messenger service. She sent six. Each with the same message, each to find their quickest route to Estorr to deliver the news that might bring Ascendants into the field quickly enough to save the Conquord.

She had agonised for days while she and Prosentor Ruthrar talked and her people became more and more despondent. The dead were following and they did not pause in their pursuit. She couldn't make enough distance between them to put them off the scent, if that were even possible.

Conquord legionary and Tsardon warrior alike were blistered and exhausted, but at least the animosity was fading. One thing was becoming very clear to them all. Gorian did not recognise the difference between them. To him, all of them were potential recruits to the army of the dead. Conflict between them was a pointless exercise that only strengthened Gorian's hand.

The Tsardon were no longer the enemy.

But while there was no hostility, there was no real trust either. The two groups maintained their distance and Conquord soldiers still guarded their erstwhile foe at every rest break. None should be allowed to forget that this was Conquord territory.

'How long before we reach the Atreskan border?' asked Ruthrar.

He was riding beside Kell as he had done these past four days. His Estorean had improved from their constant conversation and Kell could not help but warm to him. Just a soldier doing what his rulers demanded of him. And now cast adrift. She had searched for subterfuge within him and had found none. He had been open about the Tsardon forces he knew were marching on the Conquord and he had never once asked the questions about the Conquord defences she half expected. The only conclusion Kell could realistically reach was that his first assertion, that he be allowed to warn his king of the danger Gorian presented, was an honest one.

'Thirty days at least. And that assumes we don't have to slow because of the condition of our infantries. It's not the worst country but we won't have highway all the way. We may find river transport but don't trust to the possibility. It's a hard march ahead.'

'And then?'

Kell shrugged. 'And then I release you and your men back into Atreska to warn your king and I stand with my people to defend our backs as well as our fronts. My prayer is that Khuran listens to you.'

'He will listen.'

'You sound so sure.'

'The evidence he can hear from any one of those under my command. And he will know from where I have come. You should ride with me to meet him.'

Kell shook her head. 'No. My duty will be at the fortifications. The dead will be at our heels. We'll need you to bring them down ahead while I deal with those behind.'

‘I
understand.' Ruthrar looked at her. His was a keen mind and he sensed in her something she was trying to keep hidden. 'What of your people who escaped up the cliff side? Roberto Del Aglios was with you, wasn't he?'

'He was.'

'And your husband. A hero of the battle of the Gaws.'

Kell bit her lip and let her gaze fall to her horse's mane. She tried to keep him out of her thoughts but he crowded in every time she closed her eyes. So hard to believe that he had fallen. But so hard to believe he had escaped, or Roberto. The filth and disease had been rushing towards them and they had not made the path before she had been forced away. She had lost sight of them both. What would she tell their children if he had become one of the dead? What can you tell a small boy who idolises his father and believes him invincible. Or a daughter who delights at her father's smile and wants to follow him into the legions, as a surgeon to rival Dahnishev.

'Dahnishev
...'
she said, closing her mouth abruptly.

'General?'

'Three great men were at those cliffs when Gorian did what he did.

I cannot afford to believe any of them survived.' She frowned. 'How did you know about my husband?'

it would be disrespectful of me to speak further. I can only join you in hoping he and Del Aglios survived. They will be useful in the days to come.'

'We agree there. But tell me. I will not take offence.'

Ruthrar paused to consider how he should frame his words. 'A couple are married and in charge of an elite Conquord legion. Ir was news that spread through the whole kingdom of Tsard.'

'Really?' Kell managed to laugh,
‘I
had no idea my fame was so far-flung.'

‘I
'm sorry it is so, now I have met you. We thought it a weakness of your Advocate's leadership. An experiment that had to fail.' Ruthrar gave a rueful smile. 'There were many jokes coined about it. You can imagine
...'

'And I have heard them all. But it worked, Ruthrar. I promise you that. Or it did until Gorian came back.'

Ruthrar nodded,
‘I
have no doubt, General. No doubt whatever.'

Gorian clutched at his sides as the pain swept him again. He laid a heavy hand on Kessian's shoulder and the boy staggered beneath it but did not buckle. His head pounded and his legs were stiff. Ahead, the dead marching around Lord Tydiol faltered a step before regaining their rhythm. Tydiol looked round and his face did not mask his concern. Gorian waved that he was all right.

'Why don't you go back on the cart, Father?' asked Kessian.

'A commander should not rest while his troops march,' said Gorian.
‘I
'm fine. I'm fine.'

He and Kessian were walking alone some thirty yards behind the dead of Tydiol and Runok. They had kept their forces going admirably and the Karkulas had not let him down. The priest was on the cart, one they had found at a farm they had overrun and now pulled by the farmer, his three sons and four others. Their deaths had given Gorian new ideas.

While he could not rely on horses or oxen, he did not have to waste the strength of his fighting force on mundanity. It would be wise to arrive at their next battle with more than just strength of arms. Artillery perhaps. And maybe a front line of those who could not fight but would sap the wills of the enemy. Was it not the duty of gods to use their subjects wisely and to bring into the fold those best suited to each task?

Hasfort was at the southern end of the Tharn Marches. A place renowned for engineering excellence. A place among others that the Conquord relied upon for its onagers, ballistae and scorpions. A place to increase his strength and versatility. The few hundreds in front of them right now could wait. Gorian knew where they were going.

'Father, please. You need to rest.'

Gorian looked down at him. His expression was not all sympathy and concern.

'You think you see weakness, boy, but you do not. The effort to control such forces is tiring, even for one such as me. You and the Karku, you have no conception. But I feel them, I feel my people. Each and every one as if he is joined to me by a thread I cannot break. I am the tree and my roots are everywhere through this earth. My people, they are the new shoots that spring from the ground. I make the ground feed them and they worship me for my care.

'So do not think me weak, Kessian. I am stronger than you can imagine. But with strength sometimes comes pain.'

Kessian's face was blank.

'Young minds can never understand the workings of gods.'

'But you aren't a god, Father. You're an Ascendant.'

'Not a god to you, perhaps, but then, you are my son. But to them, to the dead given new life, how else do you think I appear to them?'

'You don't look well, Father,' said Kessian. 'Your face. It's all blotchy and rough.'

Gorian felt his left cheek and smiled. He felt the skin protest as it moved, almost creaking.

'I am close to this earth. Is it not right that I take on new skin? The Ascendant will always become that which he loves if he chooses. I choose the strength of wood and the power of earth. It becomes me as fire becomes your mother.'

'You won't hurt her, will you?'

'I could never hurt her,' said Gorian. 'I want us to be the family we should always have been. It's one of the reasons I am doing all this. For you and for her. Now, I think I might travel on the cart. Help me back there, will you?'

'Yes, Father.'

Kessian seemed a little breathless. Perhaps it was the dream of uniting under his mother and father. What a world it would be under the control of the first family of true Ascendants. Majesty and deity, empire without end. It was enough to set Gorian's heart fluttering in his chest.

He let Kessian help him onto the back of the cart and then se
nt the boy away to walk with Lor
d Tydiol and learn more about the dead under his control. If he was to become general of his own force one day soon, he had to understand the nuances of energy that kept each individual working within the mass and how each fed off the others to make the whole stronger.

'Why don't you let me help you, Father?'

'How can you help me?'

'Let me raise animals to pull the carts. Ease the burden on you.'

'No,' said Gorian, his tone startling Kessian. 'You cannot trust an animal. And you cannot waste your energy on mere beasts. Men are our army and they are our workforce and muscle. Never forget that.'

Gotian winced as he drew his legs up. The pain had been getting steadily worse since dawn. He drew up the hem of his shabby-looking toga and tensed. From the top of his boots to the middle of his thighs, the skin was discoloured. Brown and thickly veined. In places, he could feel that it was as dry as bark. In others, it felt brittle like dead leaves.

He pushed the material back down, aware that the smell of his legs was not entirely wholesome either. But then, neither was the earth itself. Mould and rot sat by vital soil and new growth. One could feed the other and so it would be within him. He remembered a time when he would regenerate almost on a whim. Those skills seemed difficult to recall now.