Harban studied his people. Blades, axes and hammers were held in hands still dark with dusas hair. Bare feet were planted firmly in the snow. Mountain men and women. Long-limbed and short-bodied. Enough to repel an army four times their number such was the advantage of height and terrain. The valley was a killing ground and still more Karku arrived.
Facing them were perhaps twice their number but it was no ordinary army. Courage and a willingness to commit hideous acts were the factors that would win this fight.
Harban stood by his army's commander, nodding that all was in place at the valley mouth. The man nodded back, his face betraying his nervousness. He wasn't a true commander. He was no Prosentor of Tsard or General of the Conquord. No Del Aglios. None of them were. How long since any serious threat worth the name? A hundred and seventy years. Border skirmishes and mineral disputes, yes. Little fights quickly resolved. But this. This was an assault on the fabric that bound the Karku. No preparation was adequate.
The gorthock scented enemies, an alien irritant in the nose that dragged their voices to full cry. The howling spread across the army. It was deafening, boosting the blood and calling the mountains to keep them strong. It was all they had. The determination to live on as they always had. And indignation that any should try to take from them.
But along the valley floor came order, discipline and something none had seen the like of before. Harban prayed to stone and sky that he lived to see another dawn.
Mirron retched. Her legs felt leaden and she dropped to her knees. Her hands touched the ground to steady herself but she snatched them away, unable to bear the sick crawling directed through her fingers.
'Exchequer!' called Harkov, kneeling down beside her on the icy slope that led high and deep into Kark. 'Mirron?'
She gasped for air, feeling the sickness surge through her, leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, a thundering in her head and a roiling pain in her stomach. She fought down the nausea. Every muscle shook and she couldn't focus her mind to calm herself. She dared another touch on the ground. Nothing. Just the cold and dormant life beneath her and as far in any direction that she could sense. And away to the north-west, a sense of bleakness covering the earth. That was where it had come from and the knowledge of what it meant brought tears to her eyes.
The column had stopped and Mirron could hear Jhered barking Gatherers and Ascendancy guards out of the way. She pushed herself upright and managed a weak nod at Harkov.
'I'm all right,' she said.
Harkov raised an eyebrow. 'Really?'
She shook her head. The ache was fading from her, letting her think.
'He's started,' she said. 'I think we might already be too late.'
'Mirron?' It was Jhered. 'What's wrong?'
She leaned against him for a moment while her vision swam.
'God-surround-me, that was horrible.'
'What was it?'
'Like tasting rotten meat. Meat that crawled with maggots. It went through my whole body. Dammit but I can still taste it.' She spat a little phlegm on to the snow, watching it sink a little way before it cooled. 'It's him. He's making the dead walk, I know it.'
'Where?'
'Way to the north and west. Days from here. I can't imagine what it will feel like closer to. I've got to work out how to push it away or it'll swamp me.'
Jhered rubbed at the stubble on his chin. It was grey and flecked with white. He was always so smart back on the Hill. Out here though, he became the rough soldier he'd been since his youth.
'How many days?'
'I don't know. Depends if we can find a Karku to take us through the mountains. Still, I'd guess at three days, maybe four.'
'Too many,' said Jhered. 'Far too many. Whatever's happening will be over for good or ill. We can do no more than walk inland until we find the Karku. Persuade them to take us to Yllin-Qvist and Harban. Are you all right to go on?'
Mirron nodded. 'There's not much choice is there?'
'You said it,' said Jhered.
'I wish we had mules like last time.'
Jhered chuckled. 'Had Ceskas been at the height of trade, two hundred mules might have been hard to come by. And they'd have bankrupted the treasury. Thieves. Listen, I want you to be careful. Don't hide those feelings from me. They could help us. Give us warning. But more important, look after yourself. We're going to need you, Mirron. Everyone on this path knows the pain you carry every day your son is missing. We'll walk until we drop but you have to tell me or Harkov when you need to stop. Don't be a martyr, it won't do any of us any good. We're here for you, all of lis. All right?'
Mirron blinked back fresh tears. 'Yes,' she said quietly.
'Good,' he said. He turned to the column and Mirron saw him studying the steep, slender path ahead, the dizzying drop to their left. He sighed and gathered himself. 'Let's move! Keep your eyes open. We need contact and we need it quickly. March.'
The hail of missiles was unrelenting. The scale of the violence meted out on the advancing invaders was sickening and shocking. Arrows, spears, sling shots, loose rocks tipped over the sides to start small avalanches of stone and earth. Men and women were cast from their feet under the weight of the assault.
Through his magnifier, Harban saw skulls staved in. He saw limbs torn from bodies and chests impaled. He saw blood and flesh scattered across the valley, defiling the pure ground. And he saw almost every single body pull itself back to its feet and move on.
He could not deny the fear that crawled through him just as it did every Karku, every gorthock around him. He didn't know who they had been before they were taken and driven to this fate. Gesternan, Atreskan, Tsardon, dead but walking. They moved despite arrows piercing chest, throat and skull. Arms hung by a thread, dripping blood to the earth. Some had legs clearly broken, torn or mangled. Still they dragged themselves forwards, impelled by something he simply could not comprehend.
Behind them waited the regular Tsardon army. They stood in ranks, watching in near silence while the Karku, with no alternative, wasted their weapons on the dead. Harban could see the faces of those in the Tsardon front line. There was no triumph in their expressions. The misgivings were plain but so was the relief they were not facing the barrage. They would look to either side, talking to their comrades, seeking explanation and reassurance they would not get. Not a one of them was smiling.
Somewhere, He would be. Out of sight, separate, working his thralls.
Harban refocused on the dead moving implacably up the slope. Soldiers all of them, a thousand and more carrying weapons if they had the limbs left to do so. Armour ragged if they wore any, damaged by exposure and lack of care. Only three hundred yards distant now. Their faces betrayed nothing but the scars of their deaths and the wounds of today. Some were covered in sores. He could see bone and tooth through rents in pallid flesh. But in their eyes, those that still had them, there was no understanding, nor fear, nor determination. Not even the confusion he had seen in Icenga. Just blind subservience to their new master.
The barrage was decreasing in intensity. Those standing and looking down saw their efforts come to nought. The enemy didn't even pull arrows free unless they directly hindered movement. Spears had been torn out and the innards that came with them were casually discarded.
With every onward step, the realisation that they would be confronting this implacable enemy face-to-face was creeping through the Karku standing and waiting. Harban looked left, right and behind. It was in every eye and quickened breath. It was plastered across the expression of the commander, Jystill-Rek.
'What can we do?' he asked, catching Harban's eye. 'What can we do?'
Harban looked back at the approaching dead. Staggering, striding, advancing.
'No man can fight if he lies flat on the earth, whether he is driven dead, or still alive under mountain and sky,' said Harban, his next words tainting his heart. 'We must divide their bodies.'
'And fire,' said Jystill. 'We need fire.'
Harban bowed hi
s head briefly. 'Yes. Fire.' May they all be judged honestly when their time came. 'But act now. You can feel we are losing our men.'
Anxiety was spreading like a virus through the Karku and the gorthock alike.
'Listen to me!' Jystill raised his voice to a shout after a brief survey of the situation ahead. 'We must face what comes against us. We are Karku and we must defend our home. But I understand your fear. I share it. But now is our opportunity. These abominations are well ahead of their masters. They are isolated and we outnumber them. We will bring fire and we will bring blade to bear. Don't try to kill them, render them unable to move and then burn them. Pray to sky and stone and remember who waits behind us, relying on us.
'Handlers, prepare to release your gorthock. Runners to the peaks. Tell them to attack the Tsardon, should they move. Light fires, light torch and branch. Karku, for your people, fight.'
Jystill's words passed quickly through the Karku on this curious, quiet battlefield. Harban heard the shouts of objection filter back even as others readied gorthock or broke away to bring wood from their camp for fires and torches.
'We cannot stop them! Even with heads smashed, still they move.'
'They are innocents forced to fight beyond death.'
'We may not judge and so burn them.'
Harban unclipped the lead from Drift. She looked up at him, expression almost pleading under her heavy bony brow. The noise around them was growing, Karku encouraging one another, arguing with the objectors. Jystill opened his mouth to add his voice. Harban stopped him.
'You have said all you must. They will follow us or they will not.' 'We cannot march divided.'
'We may have no choice.' Harban knelt by Drift, placed his hands around her jaws and staring deep into her eyes. 'Go from me and tear the flesh of our foe. Fear not death or wound. You are gorthock.'
He felt the rumble in her body as his words pierced her fear and stoked her lust for blood. He straightened and stepped back a pace. Drift turned to face the dead, sat back on her haunches and let rip the cry of the gor. It was an ululating sound, picked up in the throats of all gorthock. It reverberated against the sides of the valley, half scream, half howl. It struck deep in the bones of men and even Karku shuddered.
Yet as Drift led the gorthock charging down the slope, the dead had not flinched from their path. And behind them, beyond the valley mouth, the Tsardon had not yet reacted either. Harban's fundamental sense of the sheer wrong in the situation threatened to overwhelm him. Part of him had to believe these dead were simply husks with nothing left of their original selves. But he had seen Icenga. Icenga had spoken to him before he had died the second time. The person was left inside the body, trapped and with no way out. They wanted help and all they would get would be flames.
'Karku, for sky and stone!'
Jystill raised his short blade high and led his army after the gorthock. Harban matched him stride for stride, pushing thoughts of the horror they would perpetrate from his mind. The time for guilt was later. Now, Kark had to survive. The mountain had to stand against the tide.
Harban was no fighter. He was a hunter and a farmer. He had a sword as they all did for ceremonies, and for the passing of boy to man deep inside Inthen-Gor. He drew his as they all did and ran on, hoping the gorthock would check the advance. Yet already ahead of him, the animals had begun to slow.
'Drift!' he called. 'Don't fear. Enemy. Prey.'
Whether she heard him or not, he didn't know. But the charge became a lope and the lope became a cautious walk, and so quickly the gorthock stopped. Scant yards from the dead and all they could do was snarl and growl. The dead did not pause and in front of them, the gorthock backed off, pace by pace. Like so many cubs scared of a mountain ass. Toothless and unsure. The moment they backed up to the faltering line of Karku, they turned and scattered back behind cover.
'Stand! Stand!' Jystill shouted, though his own voice was wavering.
In front of them the dead came on. Their march was untidy but they were in ranks and their weapons and shields were held ready. Harban took a deep breath. The Karku had halted, many had turned and fled after their gorthock. Those that stood were ready to follow them.
'Stand!' Jystill again, forcing steadiness into his tone.
The Karku stood. The dead advanced. Harban heard the crackle as torches were brought up to the back of the line.
'Only if we have to,' said Jystill.
Harban was shaking his head. 'These are not our enemies. Remember Icenga. Remember what I saw.' The dead came on.
'Stop,' ordered Jystill. 'You cannot go further. Please. You are Atreskan and Gesternan. You are friends. You can hear me. I know you can. Turn aside. Turn against the one who sent you.'
There was not a flicker from any one of them. Harban shivered and gripped his sword a little more tightly. They were ten yards away. Utterly silent but for the dragging of feet over the ice and snow and the dull clank of armour and sword.
'God of the sky protect me,' whispered Harban.
He could see their faces. The clouding of breath in some but by no means all. The magnifier had not told the whole truth. Jaws hung slack. Tumours, pustules and sores covered flesh. Many had tears in their flesh and clothing where killing blows had been struck. Maggots crawled in uncovered wounds. Bone gleamed white from beneath flaps of flesh. Rot and decay surrounded them. The smell was extraordinary, hideous. One man, and it had been a man, wearing the livery of the Atreskan border guard, had lost most of his head. The left side of his skull was smashed. Brain was smeared over the shards, rested in the base of the skull and had dripped on to his shoulder.
Harban was shaking. Gasps and prayers surrounded him. He heard running feet.
'Jystill,' he managed. 'Before we lose the rest.'
Beside him, Jystill swallowed. 'I can't,' he said. 'I can't.'
The dead marched slow and steady. Five yards. The Karku backed off just as their gorthock had done. Helpless, Harban went with them.
'Give the order, Jystill. Please.'
Jystill opened his mouth, his voice loud and dominating. 'Run! Save yourselves. To the paths of Inthen-Gor. Run!'
Harban gaped, unable to speak in defiance. As if bindings had been cut, the army of Karku burst backwards, fleeing back up the slope. Jystill was roaring them on, hurrying through the lines away from the dead. Harban had no choice. He and the very few others who had been prepared to fight were already at risk of being overwhelmed. So he turned and retreated too.
Not a run. He discovered pride within himself. Only twenty walked with him, secure in the knowledge that the Tsardon were too far back and the dead were not about to change the pace of their march.
But with every pace, he felt the strength of the Karku fade. Beneath his feet, the mountain would weaken and the roots that held the Karku people and their lands together would wither. Jystill spoke of defending Inthen-Gor and perhaps they would. Perhaps the outcome would be precisely the same.
Harban couldn't find it in his heart to blame anyone but as the roar of the commencing Tsardon advance reached his ears, he couldn't find in his heart any hope for survival either. His people had turned their backs on the tumbling of the world.
Chapter Thirteen
859th cycle of God, 20th day of Genasrise
'Come walk with me.'
Gorian held out his hand. Kessian kept his firmly inside his cloak. He was cold. Very cold indeed. He didn't know what was going on but he felt scared and ill. He hadn't wanted to eat and now he was starving too. Today had been horrible. It had dawned wet and freezing. Something had happened that he hadn't been able to see because Gorian wanted him to help with something else. And that had been horrible too. Gorian had placed hands on him and sucked energy from him, or so it felt like. It had made him tired but he was all right now.
But now it was just as horrible because he was being made to walk from the camp where all the soldiers were and up past the place where they'd all been sent to fight. Them and the ones who went before
them whom he could feel but didn't understand. The ones Gorian told what to do whilst using him. It was all very confusing. He wished he was still at home but he'd learned that crying got him nowhere. So he just got angry instead.
'Why?'
'Because I am going to show you what it is you have helped come about.'
'I didn't do anything.'
Gorian beckoned. 'Yes, you did. Or you made it so I could. Come and see.'
'I don't want to. It's cold.'
Kessian regretted saying that but this time, Gorian only smiled. 'If you come with me now, I'll show you an easy way to keep yourself warm, how about that?'
Kessian frowned. 'I can't do any of these things you say I can. I'm too young.'
Gorian squatted down in front of him. 'I keep telling you, I know you have emerged. You are a fully-fledged Ascendant, potentially the best of us all. Your mother might not have seen it, or she might have been keeping it from you. But it's true. All you have to do is believe.'
Kessian sighed. This wasn't any good. Gorian gripped his arms quite hard.
'Ow.'
'You can drop that expression for a start and listen to me. There's a man came into the camp last night. He's a little further ahead now with his soldiers, working out which direction we should go next. I can help him because I've been here before. I need to tell you that because I am going to introduce, you to him. He is King Khuran. He is king of all the Tsardon and I have told him how important you are. So you will not embarrass me and you will be polite to him, do you understand?'
'Why do you want me to—'
'Do you understand!' Gorian shook him.
'Ow, yes. Yes. Let go.'
Gorian did so and stood back up, the smile on his face again. 'We shouldn't fight, you and I. We are father and son, no matter what you think right now.'
A Shout for the Dead Page 12
