A Shout for the Dead

This edition published 2006 by BCA by arrangement with Gollancz an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group

CN 147470

Copyright © James Barclay 2007 All rights reserved

The right of James Barclay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accor
dance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Typeset by Input Data Services Ltd, Frome

Printed in Great
Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives pl
c

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of David Gemmell. A great friend and a peerless mentor. The world is the poorer without you.

Acknowledgements

One day in January
2006,
I went to visit David Gemmell and as a result, this book is the one I hoped it would be. David had a way of visualising and solving problems when we talked that I will never be able to replace. Sadly, it is a debt I will never be able to repay.

I also want to thank Simon Spanton for (still) putting up with the job of editing my work; my wife, Clare, who tries damned hard to make sure I sit in front of the PC and actually put finger to keyboard for enough hours every day; William Montanaro for producing a terrific and growing web resource for the Ascendants (address below); and Ariel, Lizzy Hill and Paul Maloney for their fantastic help with the website, forum, maps, and all that online stuff. I am more grateful than you know.

www.theascendants.co.uk

www.jamesbarclay.com

Cast List

OFFICERS
OF THE
ASCENDANCY
ACADEMY

Hesther Naravny
mother of the

ascendancy, land warden

Andreas Koll
ascendancy echelon, land
warden

Meera Naravny
ascendancy echelon,
firewalker

Harkov
general of the ascendancy guard

Arducius
ascendant of the 9™ strand

Mirron
ascendant of the 9th strand

Ossacer
ascendant of the 9™ strand

Cygalius
ascendant of the ioth strand

Tola
ascendant of the ioth strand

Petrevius
ascendant of the ioth strand

Mina
ascendant of the ioth strand

Bryn
ascendant of the ioth strand

Kessian
ascendant, son of mirron

OFFICERS OF THE ESTOREAN CONQUORD

Herine Del Aglios
advocate of the
estorean conquord

Paul Jhered
exchequer of the Gatherers

Felice Koroyan
chancellor, order of

the omniscient

Roberto Del Aglios
ambassad
or to
sirrane

Arvan Vasselis
marshal defender of
caraduk

Katrin Mardov
marshal defender of
gestern

Megan Hanev
marshal defender of atreska

Orin D'Allinnius
chief scientist to the advocate

Marcus Gesteris
senator

Tuline Del Aglios
secretary to the
consul general

Yuri Lianov
harbour master of
wystrial, gestern

Fleet Corvanov
conquord messenger, wystrial,
gestern

SOLDIERS AND SAILORS OF THE
CONQUORD

Karl Iliev
prime sea lord of the
ocetanas

Kashilli
lead marine, ocenii squad vii

Elise Kastenas
marshal general of the
armies

Pavel Nunan
general, 2nd legion

Dina Kell
general, znd legion

Adranis Del Actios
master of horse, 2nd legion

Davarov
general of the atreskan
legions

Cartoganev
master of horse, atreskan legions

CITIZENS AND
OTHERS

Dahnishev
master su
rgeon, 2
nd legion

Julius Barias
order speaker, 2nd legion

Harban-Qyist
karku guide

Khuran
king of tsard

Rhyn-Khur
prince of tsard

Gorian Westfall
en
ascendant of the 9th strand

Kreysun
prosentor, tsardon forces

Thomal Turan
king of atreska

Chapter One

859th Cycle of God, 15th day of
Dusasfall

It was the second time he had seen Icenga die.

The first time had been a fall. And through his magnifier Harban had seen the broken body and the stain of blood on the snow far below.

It was an unusual way for one of the Karku to die. Yet the body had gone by the time Harban had finished his descent and he had felt pure joy. No animal had taken Icenga. There were no drag marks but there was a single set of footprints leading into the maze of rocks. Hope flared within him.

Immediately, he had known it could not be. Icenga could not possibly have survived such a fall. Fear had settled on him. Glancing up at the surrounding mountains, he had seen the glint of sun on glass as a magnifier turned his way. Rock dust and grit fell from the same place.

And then he had heard the rasp of shoe on ice and had seen Icenga walking towards him. He was sure-footed, as he had always been. But every few paces he had staggered as if pain was shearing through his head and he had lost all coordination, able only to grip his skull hard with his hands.

Harban had stood mute, unable to offer assistance or to flee. Icenga had not fallen. The broken shaft of an arrow jutted from his ribs over his heart. Icenga had collapsed into his arms and the pair of them had sagged to the frozen ground. Harban had stroked the dead man's hair while he breathed his last once again. The confusion in Icenga's eyes had turned Harban's fear to pity. He had whispered words of comfort but none could possibly be adequate. He wasn't even sure if Icenga could hear him.

And then at the very end, Icenga's expression had cleared and words had issued from his mouth, bound to the sour taint of sick breath.

'You know what this means,' he had said, his voice a dry rasp. 'We all know.'

Dimly, Harban heard the beat of hoofs on stone and ice. The fear deepened then, bringing a shortening of his breath. Harban sat with Icenga in his arms until his body was numbed by the cold and all his prayers were spoken.

Only then did his mind begin to function. Harban looked around him. The carved marble memorial to the Conquord dead in the slaughter a decade past stood cracked and creeper-covered. It had once been a grand obelisk with the bust of Jorganesh, the fallen general, proud at its head. But through the creepers could be seen scrawled Tsardon insults and threats should the Conquord ever return this way. It was smeared with long-dried goat's blood and the nose of the general had been shorn away.

Dusas chill ran deep and abiding. A gale charged with ice howled along Lubjek's Defile, rustling the ivy on the memorial. Nothing else remained to mark the single worst defeat of Conquord forces during her war with Tsard. No bones remained, no onager stones sat among the leaves. Not even an arrowhead poked through. All long cleared by Atreska's impoverished southern peoples.

Harban had seen the immediate aftermath. The images still haunted his dreams and filled his prayers to the Heart of the Mountain. This was not a place any Karku, let alone Harban, would choose to come any more. Though the scorched trees had grown afresh and flowers would carpet the ground when genastro warmed the earth, it would forever be tainted.

Harban was on Kark's northern border with Atreska, there with Icenga because of the rumours that had now proved true. Icenga had not been the only one to perish this way. Others had been used. Testing a power that the Karku had feared down the long centuries of history but had never really believed would be made flesh. That it was being tested here and Harban could take back undeniable evidence was the realisation of the darkest of Karku fears.

Harban stood, Icenga's body limp in his arms, finally granted the peace he deserved. He began to walk back up the slope towards the passageway under the mountains. The deep rumble of a distant avalanche reverberated over him. He stopped and stared up at the white peaks above, many lost in dense grey cloud. Another portent giving credence to Icenga's words from beyond death?

'Perhaps we are already too late,' he said and moved on again.

There was a great deal to be done. Icenga had to be interred in the rock catacombs under the village of Yllin-Qvist where he had lived his whole life; a place from where he could never be reawakened again. And Harban had to speak with the guardians of Inthen-Gor, the Heart of the Mountain. They had to know what he had seen and determine whether the prophecy was coming to pass. And if it was, it would be Harban who would make the journey to seek the few who could save them.

Deep in the mountain, the prophecies and writings of the ancients were already under close scrutiny. In the most sacred place in Kark, where the Eternal Water lapped the shores of the island on which the Heart Shrine stood, where the priests and guardians kept unflinching vigil, there had been a theft. Truth had been stolen. Disaster would surely follow. He lived. And He would come for them.

King Thomal Yuran of Atreska accepted the parchment but did not open it, knowing it would represent his last act as monarch of his country. In front of him, a man and a woman stood a respectful distance away. They were flanked by guards, polished armour reflecting the firelight of the cold throne room, faces emotionless. There would be more in every corridor of the castle and thousands of others, all bearing the Del Aglios crest, securing every inch of his country. It had gone with scarcely a whimper.

'This is what I think it is?' he asked.

His throne felt uncomfortable beneath him. The throne room, long divested of its Conquord accoutrements, was stale and bare. Outside, a dusas gale scoured the aged stone and mourned around the turrets and arches. This was not how he imagined it would end. By the lord of sky and stars, looking at the woman in front of him his dreams had ever been different and full of light and love.

Not like this. This miserable end. They wouldn't understand he had never had any real choice. Any decision he had made during those fateful days would have led to disaster for ordinary Atreskans. His people. The ones who had chanted his name and now demanded his deposition.

'I'm fulfilling my destiny as a servant of the Conquord,' she said quietly.

There was strength in her. He had seen the same ten years before. 'It is not the destiny I envisaged for you, Megan,' said Yuran. 'That was before you turned from the Conquord,' said Megan. 'And you turned from me.'

Yuran couldn't keep the edge from his voice. The years in Estorr had been very good to Megan Hanev. Her authoritative bearing had heightened her beauty. She was elegant, dressed in a toga and stola of finest Tundarran weave, and she wore a gold circlet with a woven leaf motif in her hair. Her long black hair was brushed to hang perfectly down between her shoulder blades and those deep brown eyes still retained such youthful energy.

She glanced to her right, to receive a nod from her companion before stepping forwards. Yuran felt his bravado begin to crumble. Megan reached a hand out to him and brushed his face.

'Have you seen the world outside this castle? The Tsardon have raped it. There's nothing left. You must have known they would take everything when it suited them.' She sighed. 'What happened, Thomal? Why did you do it?'

'I couldn't stand by and watch our people be slaughtered.'

'Instead, they died in their thousands at your borders with Neratharn and Gestern,' growled the man standing next to Megan. 'All because you were gutless in the face of your enemy.'

'You were not there, Exchequer Jhered. They would have crushed Haroq City without breaking sweat.'

Jhered's face was almost sympathetic. He still looked strong and vital, though grey dominated his hair, which was cut viciously short as a consequence. He had to be almost sixty years old by now. Lines marked his face but you wouldn't mistake age for weakness. Not in this man.

'You never really understood, did you?' said Jhered. 'We were then, and are now, one Conquord. Some must always die in order to save others. But you didn't ever see the world beyond Atreska's borders.'

'Don't patronise me, Jhered.'

'You and your people should have died for the Conquord when the Tsardon stood at your gates. Instead you fell meekly into line and listened to their lies about liberation. If what I saw when I rode through your once beautiful country is liberation then I would rather be a slave.

'Every hour you held them up would have brought the rest of the

Conquord time to marshal a more effective defence. And when we had won, we would have had the strength to take Atreska back then and there.'

'But we would have been torn to pieces,' said Yuran, aware of the whine in his voice. 'We were outnumbered ten to one.'

Jhered nodded. 'And your sacrifice would have saved five times the numbers that might have died within these walls. Atreska would have been a hero nation, blessed by the Advocate and feted by the whole of the Conquord. And you would have been its greatest son.

'Instead, you chose cowardice and betrayal. Did you really think we would not dare come back? Did you really believe the Tsardon would defend you when our legions massed again on your borders? Atreska belongs to the Conquord.'

'I chose the lives of my people,' whispered Yuran.