And now, like the turning of a great wheel, the Conquord was back, attempting to impose order and reinstitute the systems that had begun to make Atreska work before the war. She could see the resentment in the eyes of her citizens and didn't really know how to placate them.
Megan had sat at more meetings than she had had hours' sleep and listened to pleas for assistance and succour. Yet when she suggested that the Conquord forces and administrators moving thtough the country would provide just that, she was often shouted down. They couldn't explain what they really wanted. Megan knew, just as she knew they could never have it. Ten years of misrule really should have demonstrated how independence, or what they thought of as independence, was not the way forward.
And now here she was at a principal border crossing into Tsard and about to hear something else she didn't want to. The Advocate had been bleak in her assessment of Megan's task. And accurate, as it turned out. She had a penchant for exaggeration, did Herine Del Aglios, but when it came to affairs of state, she was always, always right on the mark.
'General Davarov,' she said, walking the short distance from her carriage to the barrel-chested Atreskan hero.
He was one of the key figures in the victory at Neratharn that had finally broken the Tsardon advance. A man who would live on in history when his cycle was complete and he returned to the earth. A man of whom statues and busts were already made and standing in the corridors of Conquord power. She felt in awe of him and he knew it. He stood proud before the border fortress gate under the flag of the Conquord, the rearing white horse over crossed spears. His armour shone in the sunlight and his dark blue, green-trimmed cloak blew gently in the wind.
'My Marshal,' he said, slapping his right arm into his chest. 'I trust your journey was at least reasonable under the circumstances.'
'None of the last fifty days has been reasonable, General,' said Megan. 'But it's good to see a friendly face in welcome. I've been rather used to scowls and frowns of late.'
Davarov chuckled briefly, a sound that bounced from the stone of the fort.
'Friendly faces often bring the worst of news. I am sorry to report this is the case today. Come with me, if you will.'
Megan nodded and Davarov marched inside. The fort was small, one of many in varying poor states of repair spread along the exposed Atreskan border north and south of a mountain range which provided a natural barrier. It was a basic circular construction with its inners divided between barracks, administration and rough armoury facilities. Cellars had been dug for storage. Weeds sprouted from cracks in the walls inside and out. The general took her up a spiral stair to the roof. It was concrete and supported by heavy timbers. Solid enough but cracked and poorly maintained.
There were battlements up here, archer positions and small artillery pieces. But these forts were all largely watch emplacements, not designed to hold off a major invasion as much as to provide staging for attacks into Tsard. To that end, the building was reduced to a folly.
'We've got almost eight hundred miles of border,' said Davarov in answer to her question. 'When the Conquord first came, one fort was built every ten miles or so along the stretches most at risk of invasion. I've travelled the border personally and this piece of dressed-up rubble is among the best we have left. Most of the others, and there were over seventy of them, have been taken apart, stone by stone. We're rebuilding but we won't be quick enough.' 'Quick enough for what?'
'Ah,' said Davarov. 'That's what I want to show you.'
Davarov led the way across the roof to the eastern wall. In the bright sunlight of a clear genas day, the view was glorious. Tsard was a country of staggering contrasts. Megan could see distant mountains, rolling plains and forest. Nearer at hand, the old highway ran off towards a line of crags behind which smoke blotted the purity of the sky. Quite a lot of smoke. Her heart fell. This sort of thing she had seen before.
'What is that?' she asked, expecting exactly the answer she received.
'That is a Tsardon army. It isn't huge. Twelve thousand, cavalry and infantry. Light on artillery which is a little odd but I presume they want to be able to move fairly quickly. They're about six miles from the border. Arrived here three days ago. I knew you were heading this way so I thought you might like to see for yourself.'
'You sound like you're describing a travelling fair,' said Megan. Her heart was thumping.
'No sense in being over-dramatic,' said Davarov.
'Over-dramatic? There's an invasion force on our doorstep. How much more dramatic can we get?'
Davarov looked about him. His guards were all staring out at Tsard, ignoring their Marshal's outburst. He smiled a little indulgently. How old must he be? Mid-forties, certainly. And world-wise.
'If there's one thing Roberto Del Aglios taught me it is that the only time to get really excited is when the sword actually enters your flesh. Until then, the only option is restraint in one form or another. If I panic, every citizen under my command does the same. So do their families, the local tradesmen, bloody hell even the dogs and cats. You get my meaning.'
Megan nodded, finding his calm suddenly very reassuring. 'Do you still hear from Roberto?'
'Probably not as much news as you do, being a Marshal Defender these days.' Davarov's eyes twinkled. 'Still chasing the chalice of a Sirranean alliance last time I heard. I hope he succeeds. We could do with allies like them just about now.'
Megan looked back to the smoking fires of the Tsardon camp. 'But you don't think there's imminent danger of a sword entering your flesh, though?'
Another chuckle. 'From the last recruit I bawled out for having a smudge on his helmet, yes, every day. From the Tsardon, well, no, but then again if they decided to march, I'd only have two hours to reflect on the poor quality of my judgement.'
'But that's why you're here, though, isn't it? And that's why you brought all this lot with you?'
Megan indicated back over her shoulder. Behind her, Davarov's legions were encamped. Around nine thousand in all and representing much of the force that should be policing Atreska in the service of the Gatherers. Davarov had the good grace to look embarrassed.
'I wanted to get messages to you but your itinerary wasn't being communicated to me too well. I've riders all over Atreska trying to track you down.'
'So, General, what is your judgement?'
'They're waiting.'
'What for?'
'That I do not know. If they'd marched straight in they'd be close to Haroq by now so it's a bizarre decision. But their camp has permanency about it.'
'You're sure they mean to invade?' Megan hadn't wanted to ask. The question sounded stupid in her ears.
'We're the only enemy within four hundred miles so I'd have to say, yes. But this could be just a show of strength and a demonstration of future intent.'
'But you don't think so.'
'No. Even with my legions here, we are outnumbered and I don't have anyone else to call on. What I don't understand is that there are not enough out there to make inroads all the way to Neratharn. I know there's trouble down south on the Karku border so this could be a two-pronged attack. The fact is, if they know they can push us back, they can walk in whenever they feel like it. Whenever they get the word or whatever it is they're waiting for.'
'More troops?'
'I know it seems the obvious thing but our scouts don't see anything coming.'
'So what are you going to do?' Megan was a little confused. 'These soldiers are expensive to keep sitting here if they aren't going to invade.
We need them inland. There's plenty of trouble at our backs, let alone ahead of us.'
Davarov's expression cooled, the twinkle in his eyes gone. 'They are legion soldiers and cavalry and they are here to fight and defend. That is what they will do. I cannot walk away from here leaving the gate wide open, my Marshal. Are you suggesting I should?'
'No, no,' said Megan. 'But how long will you have to wait here?'
'Well I can go and ask the Tsardon if
and when they intend to invade, if you like.' Davarov spread his hands wide. 'I have no choice but to wait and track them and repel them if necessary. I hope it doesn't come to that. In the meantime, I need you to try and find me reinforcements, a steady supply line and approve my messages back to Estorr. In the end, I expect they are just testing our resolve and reaction to an attack. That means we have to appear strong and determined. If not, we can expect them back in greater numbers.'
Megan paused and looked at Davarov. She didn't know the general all that well but she saw in him something she had not seen before.
'You're confused about something. What is it?' she asked.
'You noticed. Looking back at what I've told you today, I'm not surprised. It's inconsistent, I know. The point is that this is behaviour unlike any invading army I have ever seen or read about. This isn't a sport, it's about winning with minimal casualties. It's like they want us to gather our forces to make it a fair fight and that is plainly ridiculous. That is why I'm confused. Half of me wonders what would happen if I did turn round and march away ten miles. Would they still attack? Or would they just sit there? It doesn't make sense. Why, as-God-warms-the-earth, when they marched all this way did they pitch camp and wait?'
'Whatever you decide to do, I will support your decision,' said Megan.
'Whatever I decide to do, no Tsardon is setting foot in my country. That I promise.'
Chapter Twelve
859th cycle of God, 18th day of Genasrise
Mirron felt ill. It wasn't sea sickness. It had been coming on for days. Growing in intensity, an indefinable sense of ill-being was surrounding her. She kept it to herself at first, attempting to dismiss it as anxiety over her son. Quite understandable and only natural. But it wasn't that. As soon as the river journey to Ceskas began, she knew.
Everywhere, the glory of God shone through. Early genastro was so wonderful. Growth and new life filled the senses and warmed the core of her body and mind. The earth awoke and heralded the beginning of a new cycle blessed by God. It was a time when Mirron had no desire to temper the clamour that rushed through her every moment of every day. But this cycle, the taste was sour.
Mirron thought back over Harban's assertions and Gorian's words and the conclusions scared her. She wanted to be able to talk to Ossie and Ardu. They'd have placed it all in perspective. Beneath the fresh strong life of genastro, there was rot and decay. Death. And with every dip of the oars, it was growing stronger. She shivered.
'Cold?'
She turned from the bow rail. 'No, Paul, I'm fine. Lovely genastro afternoon like this? How could I be cold?'
'You tell me. I know the view's beautiful - and at least this time, I haven't had to drag you on deck to get you to see it - but your study has gone well beyond intricate. What's wrong?'
The mountains sweeping up before them, black, grey and dazzling white weren't beautiful. Their aura was foreboding just like everything else the land had to offer. Warning her away, telling her not to look because she would fear what she found,
'It's hard to say. The energy map of everywhere is unsettled. Jumbled almost like an illness was upon it, but not grey like disease.'
'Then how is it?'
Jhered had tried to understand what the Ascendants felt and saw as no one else. He'd admitted his desire to sample their world just once. This wouldn't be the time.
'Like something core to the way of things has grown beyond its natural proportion and unbalanced everything.'
'Something like dead people walking about the place, you mean?'
Mirron felt herself blush. 'Sorry, I—'
'It doesn't matter but you all do it, you know.'
'Do what?'
'Talk like it's a mystery play and you're working up to the last dramatic line. Just say it, that's my advice.'
'Oh. I see.' Mirron laughed and felt the tension seep out of her.
Jhered put an arm round her shoulders and she snuggled in a little. It felt good. Safe.
'I thought you'd think me mad,' she said.
'Why? Harban said things back in Estorr that sounded insane but your missing son isn't the only reason we're out here, is it? We have to know if he's right or not. And you think he might be. That's not mad, it's frightening.'
'We should be careful in Ceskas,' said Mirron, after a pause. 'More careful, that is.'
Jhered nodded. 'Noted.'
'I don't know what we'll find.'
By the time they arrived, however, she knew the answer to that question too. She walked the deserted streets of Ceskas hugging herself over her cloak. It was a cold day but that barely registered. Wind blew over slushy cobbles, blowing debris against closed doors and shutters. Rats scurried to cover as the Gatherers searched every room, shed and warehouse. They found blood, evidence of struggle and obvious signs that the town had been plundered but there was no one to ask what had happened.
The House of Masks was destroyed, and so was every shrine to Atreskan, Gesternan and Karku gods. That the Tsardon had been here was not in question. Mirron knew that was worrying Jhered deeply. She wasn't great on geography but even she knew this was way too close to secure Conquord lands. Actually, he'd called it an act of war and coming on the back of stories they'd heard in Kirriev about attacks at eastern ports, it sent a shudder through her.
Mirron stood at the central fountain in Ceskas, waiting for the inevitable. The fountain was smashed. And somewhere else the feed pipes had been damaged or were frozen because thete was no water. It stank of urine and excrement this close to so she moved away a few paces. She watched Jhered's Gatherers and her Ascendancy guard emerge from building after building, shaking their heads, shrugging their shoulders and moving on.
She didn't have to wait too long before Jhered and Harkov walked over to her. Her guards moved discreetly aside to let them speak to her. Both men looked bemused, Harkov a little scared. Not emotions she associated with either of them.
'I could have told you before you did all that searching.'
'You did tell us,' said Harkov. 'But we had to search anyway.'
'But it's worse than you think,' said Jhered. 'There's no livestock here. No dogs or cats either. About the former, I am not surprised. But a cat? The Tsardon won't have taken them. No point. So where are they? Only rats and mice. It's like God reached down his hand and scooped them all up. I've never seen anything like it.'
'But the Tsardon might have cleaned this place out for a statement mightn't they?'
'It's not their way,' said Jhered.
'No. They take prisoners but always leave people behind to tell the tale. It's been an effective tactic in the past.' Harkov looked round and shook his head again.
'What do you think, Mirron?' Jhered rubbed a gloved hand over his chin.
'Me?'
'Why not? You sensed something wrong. Are they all dead and walking elsewhere? That's what my people are guessing and who can blame them, eh? It's.as sensible an explanation as anything else right now.'
Mirron almost laughed but caught herself.
'You should listen to those words again, Paul.'
'I know. Ridiculous isn't it? How easily the unbelievable can become real. But that's what you're left with, isn't it, when everything else has been dismissed.' Jhered sucked his top lip. 'I don't like this at all. It feels wrong. And if it feels wrong to me, God-surround-us, it must feel dreadful to you.'
Mirron raised her eyebrows. 'Not here, it doesn't. This is almost like standing in a fallow field. It's had life and will have again. But right now, apart from what's always here, it's dormant. It's up there where the problem is.'
She gestured away to the mountains of Kark. Somewhere in there or maybe beyond, was her son. And Gorian, perpetrating something unspeakable.
'Don't you corrupt him, you bastard.'
'Sorry?'
Mirron sighed. 'Sorry, I didn't realise I said it out loud.' 'What?' asked Jhered.
'Nothing.' The tears threatened, quite suddenly. She felt tight across her
chest and the pit in her stomach yawned. 'We should go. I want my son back.'
The enemy would attack uphill over the ice and snow. For four days, they had been gathering. The Karku had watched them from the mouth of the Canas Valley, the only mass entry point into Kark along the border with Tsard. They were not afraid. They knew this would happen. The writings stolen from Inthen-Gor made it inevitable. He had come back and they knew where He wanted to go and who He needed to take.
Harban stood and gazed down on the assembly. The main body of the enemy was marching from the camp spread to the west. Fires still burned bright under dark morning skies. More snow was coming. There were some thousands of foot soldiers forming up.
The others came from the east. The ones who needed no fire or cover. Who stood or sat silent and who marched with no will but with purpose. He knew who they were and who it was that drove them.
Where were the Ascendants?
Harban ruffled his gorthock's head and ears, dragging his fingers through her dense, tough white fur. The beast growled. She was tense, staring at the invaders and unsure of the scents carried on the breeze.
'Come, Drift. Time to be with our people.'
Harban tugged on the gorthock's thick leather collar and she turned. Graceful, powerful, with the speed of a lion and the bulk of a bear. Jaws that could pierce metal. The Karku's most potent weapon.
They began to walk up the valley. Karku with spear, arrow and sling lined both edges. Most appeared grim-faced. So long since a war. Already the mountain was angry. Those taken to the roots this day would not be at peace.
The valley was six hundred feet deep at its mouth, the ground broken and difficult all the way up a sharp slope to the head a mile to the south. The mass of the Karku was clustered there. Their breath mingled in a great cloud around them. Their gorthock, two hundred and more, howled, growled and strained, impatient to attack. The had not smelled the wind like Drift had.
A Shout for the Dead Page 11
