The first keystone was in place. He looked west towards Gestern and imagined the snow-capped heights of Kark.
'And you're next,' he said into the wind. 'Then it can truly begin.'
Chapter Nine
859th cycle of God, 8th day of Genasrise
Katrin Mardov, Marshal Defender of Gestern, asked an aide to bring back the messenger from Wystrial. She rested her head in her hands as she sat at her desk in Skiona's basilica. It had been impossible to ignore the signs for some time now but this was a direct strike. This was an act of war.
The Tsardon had been camped in some numbers to the north of Kark throughout dusas. Estorr had dismissed the move as posturing but Mardov had reinforced the northern border with Atreska and offered troops to Kark nonetheless. A thousand legionaries were in the mountain country even now, scouting and advising. She didn't like the tenor of the reports she was getting.
And now this. She'd always said Tsard would be back to finish the job they'd so nearly completed ten years ago. That they were better prepared in every respect. Only Paul Jhered really listened to her. Everyone else in the Conquord hierarchy was too busy assuming Tsard would be in a position identical to their own: no funds, no armies of any real significance, licking deep wounds and considering reinvasion a monumental folly in the short term. They didn't know the Tsardon mind like she did.
The messenger returned and stood in front of Mardov's desk in the small office. She was tired but had been granted time for a wash and a change of clothes. Mid-height, young and plain, she stood to attention until waved to be at ease.
'What's your name?' asked Mardov.
'Fleet Corvanov, Marshal.'
'Really? A bit young to be a Fleet already, aren't you?' Corvanov blushed. ‘I ride well,' she admitted.
'That much is clear by your timely arrival.' Mardov paused. 'So tell me. Any exaggeration in this message?' 'No, Marshal.'
'And how do we know it is Bitter's Plague?'
'I suppose we don't know for certain. But it's what sea rats from Tsard typically carry, so the doctors say.' 'Assume the worst, eh?' Corvanov dropped her gaze. 'Yes, Marshal.'
In fairness, a deliberate attack by a plague ship was the only likely explanation and hence the only likely plague was Bitter's. Mardov sighed. It would reduce Wystrial to a ghost port. So-called because of the bile that eventually clogged the throat, Bitter's Plague was a virulent blood disease that carried in the air and attacked through the lungs. It could be passed by touch too.
It killed ninety per cent of the affected within five days, poisoning the bloodstream, starving the vital organs of nourishment so that they simply shut down. It was a painful and frightening way to die. The only reason Mardov knew Corvanov was not a carrier was that she was still alive. The grace, if it could be termed such, was that the airborne spores died quickly and could not travel far without a new host.
'How effective is the quarantine?' asked Mardov.
'It was in place as I left but some may have escaped the net,' said Corvanov. 'I think we're all relieved Wystrial is remote.'
'Indeed. Damn but this is low even for the Tsardon. No reports of naval build-up offshore?'
'None,' said Corvanov.
'Something else that confused me. A note Harbour Master Lianov made on the message. Here ... "They seemed impervious to our arrows, though they appeared to wear no armour. Yet when we boarded the ship after the rats had fled into the town, all on board were dead." Presumably they took their own lives?'
'That isn't my understanding, Marshal,' replied the Fleet. 'If the reports are accurate, they all appeared to have been dead for some days. There was decomposition evident in them all.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'I'm sorry, Marshal, but it was the last I heard before Lianov had me leave to lessen my chances of contracting the plague.'
'It makes no sense. Whoever made the report must be mistaken, surely some ship-borne problem or they were all dying of the plague themselves. Makes you wonder what sort of man will willingly sail to his death, doesn't it?' Mardov shook her head. 'And Lianov?'
'I don't know. He wouldn't come close to the messenger post. He shouted the message to us from the gates and had me read it back to him. That's why there is no seal.'
'I guessed as much. Well, decisions are simple. Tsard will invade through Wystrial and the western coast, I have no doubt. Corvanov, I will give you a choice. You can either take my messages to Estorr and speak to Exchequer Jhered and the Advocate or you can travel ahead of whatever force I can muster to defend Wystrial. Which is it to be?'
Corvanov shrugged. 'Wystrial is my home. I would be nowhere else.'
'Good answer. Go and get some rest and you'll receive your orders at dawn tomorrow. But before you do, go to the messenger office and send me the best two Fleets there. Someone has to go and tell the Advocate I was right and someone else has to warn the Karku, assuming they don't already know.'
Corvanov slapped her right fist into her chest. 'Marshal'
'Dismissed. And thank you.' Mardov watch Corvanov go. She called over her senior aide. 'I'll need signals sent across the country to prepare for war. I'll need a fast ship and the coastal flags to alert Kester Isle. I need the military and naval councils convened and I have to have some Gatherers sent to Wystrial to enforce the quarantine, together with the Order to sanction the burning of bodies as necessary. Some must fall to protect the mass. And I need it all to happen right now. We can't afford to lose a single day.'
'Anything else?' the aide had a small smile on his face as he finished scribbling the instructions.
'Yes. I want a miracle because I have no idea how we are going to repel a full scale invasion if such it is.'
The smile disappeared. 'I'll report back before dusk.'
Mardov pushed her hands back through her thick grey hair. Something about all this wasn't right. It was piecemeal, a sort of poking at the seams too see if anything tore. But not organised, as if King Khuran was breaking in a new warmaster. Unless she was missing something. One thing she did know was that it smelled bad. Gestern was going to be the front line in a new war and in the quiet of her chambers that night, she would let herself weep at the pain her citizens were going to face.
Roberto Del Aglios was confused. The Sirraneans had taken leave of their collective senses. The force they had described needed to be somewhere in the region of forty thousand strong to believe it could fight its way south to Estorr via Goscapita. Roberto had come to the edge of the forest country to see the Conquord's doom approaching.
And there they were a mile to the south, marching towards the Gosland border. Roberto put down his magnifier and turned to his retinue of six immaculately turned-out green-cloaked palace cavalry, having left the bulk of his people under cover with their Sirranean guides.
'This is either a joke in poor taste or I am looking at the vanguard of a far larger army that we have no intelligence of at present. Captain?'
The young palace guard captain shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
'We are assured this is the full complement,' he said.
'Really,' said Roberto. 'The Sirraneans' definition of an invasion force is clearly somewhat at odds with my own. Invasion farce would be more accurate. This is a hunting party, isn't it?'
'Perhaps a little more than that, my Lord Del Aglios,' said the captain.
Roberto glared at him. 'Just bring the guide to me. And don't ask him the definition of irony while you're there or you'll never learn.'
He took up his magnifier again and had another look. Six thousand men, no more. No horses, a handful of catapults pulled by oxen, a scattering of supply wagons behind them. This was by Tsardon standards of war a force designed for skirmishing, causing trouble and provoking a response, no more. They were still many days from the Gosland border and Roberto was certain they would not cross it. While the Goslander borders were not heavily manned due to their straitened circumstances, they would, given any sort of warning, be capable of holding o
ff this small army.
'So what are they doing?' he asked himself.
'My Lord?' ventured a soldier.
'Nothing, nothing,' said Roberto.
It had to be some sort of show of force or future intent. Either that or they were engineers coming to build fortifications and staging. But there was no other army within a season that the Sirraneans knew about. Ridiculous. Behind him, his captain cleared his throat. Roberto turned.
'Ah, my embellisher in chief,' he said. 'I am surprised you aren't walling in the whole of Sirrane, such is the magnitude of the threat before us.'
The Sirranean frowned and gestured for explanation. Roberto had to remind himself he was a diplomat, not a legion general any more.
'Simply put, Hadadz, the army I can see through my magnifier does not present a threat to the Conquord.'
Hadadz's frown deepened further. The deep coloured skin on his face darkened further with irritation.
'You make a mistake that will soon be too long forged to reverse with any hope of success,' he said. 'You must look further than your eyes see.'
Roberto passed a hand over his face and dragged it hard across the growth of stubble on his chin.
'You're going to have to do better than that,' said Roberto. 'Marcus Gesteris is rushing to Estorr to warn of imminent invasion. I am supposed to be warning Gosland that they are about to be attacked. When they see this lot come over the last hills before the border, they will laugh me out of the country. Do you understand?'
Hadadz nodded after a pause and a smile crossed his face, lighting up his eyes.
'Your mind's clarity will be viewed as obscured,' he said. 'Something like that,' said Roberto.
The smile faded. 'There is more driving this enemy than numbers. More than songs speaking victory and dominion.'
Roberto stared at him. 'Hadadz, they do not have Ascendants and they do not have secret weapons. There are six thousand at best and they will not get across Gorneon's Bridge before they are routed. If you know something different, please, share it with me. Our alliance is new. It would be a shame if it was to be wounded so soon.'
'At their backs is fear of a power their comprehension fails in discerning. Tarenaq said it. And you make a second mistake, Lord Del Aglios. They do have an Ascendant.'
'How do—?' Roberto stopped. 'I'm sorry, you're telling me they have developed Ascendants in ten years? Impossible.'
'No,' said Hadadz. 'Yours that ran has found his home.'
Roberto felt the strength desert him. 'Gorian.' He shook his head.
'Little bastard, I should have cut his throat when I had the chance.' He looked at Hadadz. 'But even so, even if you're right, he's just one man. An arrow will take him. We will find him in the field and kill him. Is he with them now?'
'No. He is distant yet he dominates them.'
'All right, all right. Look, while I think on this, show me what it is you think I should be seeing.'
Hadadz shrugged. 'It is in every face. It bleeds from their souls. They march hard to distance themselves from their masters yet his hand can reach them anywhere. And they do not relish whatever task has been set for their accomplishment.'
While not as poetic as the diplomat, Tarenaq, Hadadz was certainly as verbose. Roberto put his magnifier to his eye again and studied a few faces. He saw nothing immediately out of the ordinary. Unease, anxiety perhaps but ...
'No, no,' he said. 'That doesn't make sense.'
'My Lord?' it was the guard captain.
'They're over a hundred miles from the Gosland border,' said Roberto. 'And they're scared. I mean I'd expect it when they closed with their enemy but now? Half of them have the look of people being marched to their own executions. Their eyes are everywhere and they are silent, aren't they?'
Roberto looked again. At the head of the march, the commander had stopped, the column following his order. In his eyes there was no fear, only anticipation. He was a tall man, massively built. And what Roberto had taken for a skull cap was nothing of the sort. His face and shaven head were covered completely with tattoos; circular and stud patterns, geometric shapes too.
'Haven't seen his like before,' he said.
'No,' said Hadadz. 'He is from Khuran, from the temples of the damned, where the King's enemies are destroyed.'
'He's an ugly bastard, I'll give him that. So what's he doing at the head of an army marching to Gosland?'
'He brings his trade to the hinterland,' said Hadadz.
'And is it him that the rest of them are scared of?'
'It is what he represents.'
'And what's that, exactly?'
'The shroud that falls upon us all. The net from which none may ultimately escape. Death.'
Roberto laughed. 'I'm sorry, Hadadz but this is like some poor melodrama. I have the utmost respect for the ways and beliefs of the Sirranean peoples but when steel clashes with steel, it is courage, skill and numbers that win the day. They may have none, my legions do. It will be us who bring death if the Tsardon march into battle like that.'
Hadadz didn't appear to be offended. He studied Roberto for a moment while he fought for the right words.
'In the far south, the Karku barricade the mountains though no overwhelming force stands at their gates. And Sirrane shudders though we cannot fathom why. I understand the paths to our truths elude you but they would not elude your Ascendants. They would see. They would feel.'
'I cannot light the invasion beacons on the basis of a feeling,' said Roberto.
But within, Hadadz's persistence was getting to him.
'Then accept there is danger and prepare. Do not cover the sky in flame but never slip your vigilance. We have watched the Tsardon across the centuries. Their respect of time is undimmed, a commodity they do not fritter away. Something is happening and this army holds the key to the floodgates.'
'What?' snapped Roberto. 'It's all just talk and speculation, most of it barely makes sense.'
'Our knowledge is incomplete. This is a warning.'
'And we thank you for bringing it to our attention. I do not mean to be dismissive but you have to see the problem from my perspective.'
'I understand.' Hadadz bowed. 'You should continue to the Goslander border.'
Roberto nodded. 'The honour of your company is bettered only by the promise of more to come.'
Hadadz smiled again. 'My arm and heart are yours.'
'Well, at least we've learned one thing about each other's ways.'
'That road has no conclusion.'
'End, Hadadz. We'd say, "has no end".'
'As you wish.'
Roberto turned back to the Tsardon army. His first sight of them had left him confused and he felt no different now. What he had was a sense of unease that would not go away. Out there was a force any sane man would all but ignore as a serious attempt at invasion. But Hadadz was right, the Tsardon were not in the habit of wasting time and men on anything. And Roberto had learned enough that if the Sirraneans thought it worrying, then he should do the same.
Convincing the Marshal Defender of Gosland though, that would be something else entirely
.
Chapter Ten
859th cycle of God, 10th day of Genasrise
Cornmonsense had prevailed in the end. That and a few sharp words from Jhered and the Advocate once the boiling emotions had begun to subside. Mirron and fifty Ascendancy guard under Harkov's command would travel with Jhered and two hundred levium to Kark via Gestern to assess any threat and try to gain intelligence on Gorian's whereabouts. Ossacer and Arducius would remain on the Hill to school the new Ascendants who, if Harban was right, would be required in the field rather sooner than anticipated.
'Bit of a role reversal, isn't it?' Arducius tried to sound bright but the joke fell flat.
'Not really,' said Mirron.
She still couldn't quite get to grips with what she was doing or what had happened to her. That Kessian was gone remained almost unreal but for the emptiness in her rooms and the roar
of loss that overwhelmed her on an instant. His little sailing boat was drifting in the fountain. She had promised herself that only he would pick it up and move it now she had placed it there.
'You sure you'll be all right?' asked Ossacer.
'I think I'll be safer with Paul than you are around here. Don't think I haven't heard about your plans to go into the city and upset the Order.'
'Well, the Advocate was right; we haven't been to the heart of the Conquord to win them over. Looks like we're getting our chance now,' said Arducius.
'Be careful. The Chancellor won't be far away if she isn't here already. It's not good out there. Harkov says the protests are growing again now news is out that Gorian is still alive.' There was a knock on the door. A spearman opened it and the
Advocate swept in with Jhered in her wake. She approached down the hall and came to stand by the fountain. Her eyes lingered on the model boat for a moment.
'I'm not happy you're going on this fool's chase,' she said. ‘I understand your desire to rescue your son but I think the Exchequer is capable of doing it on his own.'
‘I can't stay here, Herine,' said Mirron. ‘I can't pace the floor waiting for news. It will kill me.'
'Do not place yourself at risk. This isn't going to be a time for diplomacy, do you understand?'
'Yes, she does,' said Jhered at the Advocate's shoulder. He was looking harassed. 'Now please, say what you came to say.'
The Advocate looked round at him sharply and hissed a few words Mirron didn't quite catch. She had composed herself by the time she looked back at the Ascendants. Jhered was tight-lipped and angry.
'The Order have their demon,' she said. 'It seems much of my staff couldn't wait to spread the story to all that would hear. The mood in the city is ugly concerning you, and Felice will bask in it when she inevitably arrives. So while you two do what you can to shore up my belief in you with our dear citizens, I want you to bear this in mind. Mirron, I want no ifs and no buts. There is no redemption. The future of the Ascendancy hangs on one thing, so far as I am concerned and so I am giving you this order. Gorian is to be caught and he is to be killed, that much has not changed. But when he is, I want his body brought back here because I am going to parade it around the city as a demonstration of my authority. Then I will burn it.'
A Shout for the Dead Page 9
