A Shout for the Dead (69 page)

'Tsardon,' he breathed, knowing it was impossible.

'Move up to support!' yelled Lakarov, finding his voice. 'Ready scorpions, ready ballistae.'

The militia moved forward again. Citizens, reserve guard, still yelling words Moralius could not understand, ran past. One man, his eyes wide, his mind a wasteland ran close enough to hear.

'Dead,' he was shouting. 'Dead.'

Just over and over. Moralius felt his eyes dragged back to the Ascendant. He was still smiling.

'Steady,' ordered Lakarov, marching at the head of his garrison. 'Standing firm. We can turn these.'

The Tsardon moved into the forum. Moralius looked left and right. Citizens were running along the parallel streets. Tsardon were spilling wide into the town. Moralius could see the mass of the enemy at the entrance to the forum. It was a dense movement but quiet. There were none of the battle songs they were associated with. Moralius's dread deepened. The retrear of the west garrison was not stopping.

Lakarov had seen it too. 'Hold the second marker.'

But they didn't. Anxious looks over their shoulders told of a desire to keep on moving back.

'Hold!' bellowed Lakarov. 'We will support you.'

'Come,
my
people. Fear no thrust. Bring them to me.'

The Ascendant's words sprang from the mouths of every Tsardon approaching across the sun-drenched forum. There was a ripple among the defenders. Again, the advance to the defensive position falteted. One or two broke off from the retreat and ran.

Moralius felt compelled to move forwards. From the corner of his eye he could see the Ascendant doing the same, matching him stride for stride. Beyond him, Tsardon were moving to surround them, marching steadily up the side roads. All sound of conflict had ceased now. The only shouts were those of people scared beyond reason and he didn't know why.

The Tsardon were close now. Forty yards or so away across the forum. Moralius could hear a buzzing noise above the anxious calls of legion militia and the orders of Lakarov. His voice was wavering now. Moralius felt a hand on his arm. Barodov.

'Something's very wrong here.'

'You think so?' snapped Moralius. 'Sorry.'

'We should retreat.'

'To where?'

Both men still moved forwards. Edging now rather than marching. Some of the other reserve were with them, managing to ignore the escaping militia and the cloying atmosphere that had descended on the forum.

'There is nowhere to go,' said Lakarov, voice unconvincing. 'Do not let them take your homes. Stop them here.'

The Tsardon closed. Flies. It was flies all around them. Buzzing clouds settling on faces and arms. They looked sick, the Tsardon. Tinged green, or pale, white like
...
Moralius shook his head. It was a ploy. A tactic to scare them.

'They're just men!' he found himself shouting. 'Drive them back into the forest.'

He ran. He attacked. Him, Moralius the Master Engineer. And he brought the militia and the reserve with him. He pulled his gladius from its scabbard and led the charge into the Tsardon who made no reaction whatsoever. He crossed the gap. The buzzing of flies grew louder. He was aware of a sick, rotten stench. The first enemy was in front of him. He raised no defence.

Moralius felt anger supplant his fear. He drove his blade straight into the Tsardon's gut. The warrior took a pace back under the force of the blow but otherwise did not flinch. Blood flowed over the blade but he did not cry out. Moralius stared at his blade and then up at his enemy. His anger evaporated. The dread clutched him. The Tsardon was looking at him with a single eye. The other had been eaten away by some form of mould. Green sores were across his face and through a massive tear in his chest that went through leather, cloth and flesh he could see bone. And a slowly beating heart.

Moralius let his sword go and jumped backwards. A scream left his lips. He had touched rot and disease. The blood on his hand stung him as it found its way into small cuts on his fingers. The Tsardon and all his fellows walked on. The brief Conquord riposte had ceased almost the moment it had begun. The enemy raised their swords now. Moralius's victim ignored the blood pumping from the wound, ignored the gladius that hung from his stomach. He struck downwards. Moralius screamed again and dived backwards. The blade missed him. Just.

The defence crumbled to nothing. Militia turned to flee, weapons falling from their hands. But the Tsardon were coming in from every entrance now. They were trapped. Four hundred militia and reserve crowded the centre of the forum. Men were crying. Some were trying to hack their way clear but the advance of the enemy had become a flood. There had to be thousands of them. Moralius couldn't focus on anything. The pounding in his hand grew and his vision fogged.

Someone was by him, whispering into his ear. And with every whispered word the Tsardon spoke as one. The stench of death mixed with those of shit and urine. Moralius's heart was a ball of pain in his chest. He knew he was crying.

'The pain will cease. And when you awake your family will be all around you.'

Moralius blinked. Tsardon swords rose and fell. Legion militia died beneath them. Barodov pitched to the floor of the forum, a savage cut across his face. Moralius looked round. The Ascendant was inches from him, those eyes firing into his face. Blue chased orange to a flat grey. The sounds of screaming echoed away to a soft muting.

The Ascendant was holding out his hand. Moralius saw his salvation; a way back to his wife and son. He choked on words of thanks and grasped the hand. Ice flowed over the thumping pain in his fingers, palm and wrist.

'Come,' said the Ascendant. 'Be my Master Engineer, Lucius Moral-ius.'

Warmth flooded him after the ice. Comforting, loving. Moralius nodded.

'Anything,' he heard himself say. 'I'll do anything.' The Ascendant's face
hardened but still he smiled.
‘I
know you will. As will you all.'

Chapter Forty-Eight

859th cycle of God, 46th day of
Genasrise

'Will my brother find the embrace of God, Julius?'

Barias looked at him from the stern of the boat. Roberto and Harban were sitting beside each other, rowing. The wind had died to almost nothing. Roberto's hands were blistered. Barias's were covered in strips of bloodied cloth. Harban seemed completely impervious. His palms were tough from years of climbing the mountains of Kark. And he was indefatigable. It was fortunate indeed that they had come across him in the border castle.

'Is this some new avenue into the questioning of my faith, Ambassador?'

Barias still had bruises from the one time they had actually come to blows, fading now but his left cheek was still a little puffy. Roberto flexed his own jaw. Barias might have been just an Order Speaker but he could pack a punch.

'No,' said Roberto. 'I'm tired of arguing, Julius. And I'm tired of hate. You can still think I should burn for my crimes if you like. I don't care. But every day I pray for my brother who lies beneath the ruined earth back there. I remember the writhing of the corpses under the soil and I fear that he will not feel the touch of the Omniscient. Hate me but love him, Julius. Will he make it?'

Barias straightened in his seat and his expression softened.

'Look at the land, Ambassador,' he said. 'It is and will always be beautiful.'

And so it was. They were mov
ing downriver, tracking the Ner
atharnese border. In the distance south they could just pick out the mountains that the namesake River Kalde would skirt on its way to Lake lyre and the Gaws, where Roberto hoped to find the defence that would save the Conquord. Gosland was lost in mist to the north and surrounding them, the Tharn Marches were slowly giving way to the stunning lowlands of the plain. River-run countryside bursting with life. Small hamlets, individual farmsteads and river towns stood deserted, victims of the long loss of Atreska. There must have been so much hope that citizens would return to this fertile land with the retaking of the jewel country. Now, Roberto wondered if anyone would ever dare set foot here again.

They had seen no one in days. No one at all. It was a chilling reminder of the effects of conflict and even more so, perhaps, of the passage of Gorian. Not that he could have extended his hand here so quickly from the north. But from the south there was no clue. If he had done in Atreska what they had seen at the crags, there was really no telling what state the place would be in. Roberto could easily be rowing them to their deaths.

'We can agree on that, Julius.'

'But there is evil within it. We know this because we have seen it in Gosland, and our nightmares will never fade. Yet I believe that purity will out. Whether we live or die in whatever is to come. Those like your poor brother Adranis will feed the earth with the essence of themselves and return it to its pure state. So will he find his way to the embrace of my God.'

Roberto nodded. It was imagery in which he could readily find comfort.

'So Adranis's work is not yet done,' he said.

'And it will never be so. His cycle will surely endure and he will perform the will of the Omniscient from where he lies until he is required to walk the earth once more.'

'That is fitting. It is right,' said Roberto. 'Thank you, Julius. It was troubling me.'

it's good to know that at least one of your troubles can be eased by reference to the true scriptures.'

Harban cleared his throat noisily. Roberto smiled and looked over his shoulder.

'Don't worry. We're done arguing.' He turned back, isn't that right, Speaker Barias?'

'When the issues are settled, then we will be done. Until then, we are merely pausing to gather our thoughts. However, that pause may be one of considerable length.'

The three of them chuckled.

'To the ends of the earth and the peak of the mountain,' said Harban. 'Your faith is fascinating even though I do not share it.'

'We should talk at greater length,' said Barias. 'I feel sure I could convince you.'

'Not even if you spoke at me until your dying breath. Like you, I am on a quest that lies at the heart of my faith. We share goals but not reasons. Gorian must die. For you that means your Conquord will be spared. For me, it means that the mountain will not fall. I will return my Gor-Karkulas to Inthen-Gor. For you it means nothing, for us it is salvation. You cannot deflect me. I walk to a beat so ancient even the eldest mountains cannot remember its beginning.'

Roberto watched Barias debate with himself if he should take up the challenge. But it had been a long few days. They were all sore and tired. Minds as well as bodies. Nine days on this river and that. And probably another nine to go. More if the wind didn't turn in their favour. Food was not plentiful but Harban was a deft hunter and Roberto's bow skill hadn't diminished, even if the Tsardon weapon he used was ill balanced.

So Julius elected to keep his own counsel for now, though the frown on his face was not something Roberto cared for overmuch.

'What's on your mind?' he asked.

'The same thing that worries you though you choose not to let it surface. Your brother's memory has been so powerful until now, it has dominated you.'

'I think you'd better elaborate,' said Roberto.

Adranis's smile flashed in his mind, giving credence to Barias's words.

'The river is too empty. The land as well. You can sense it if you let yourself,' said Julius. 'It should frighten you.' , 'I'm not with you.'

'Last night, you and Harban walked a good two miles before finding a pair of rabbits for our bellies. When was the last time you heard the sound of a bird? It's not possible, or it shouldn't be. Genastro is in full force. The land is glorious with colour and plant life. But the animals are gone.'

'Animals sense the coming of disaster before men,' said Harban. 'They are closer to the earth than we are.'

Roberto felt as if a veil had been dragged from his face.

'And the men are gone too. No travellers taking advantage of empty villages. No riders in the distance.' He stopped rowing and turned to face Harban. 'And no other boats. Not one in nine days.'

'What does it mean?' asked Julius. 'We've seen no beacons, no flags, no nothing. It's like we're alone in this country.'

'It means none would even run here. It means that Gorian is surely attacking through Atreska too, just as we feared, and all who escape him are fleeing south. And it means that no one knows what is coming at them from the north because we are the first messengers.'

Roberto sighed and rolled his words around inside his mind.