A Shout for the Dead

by James Barclay

  'Force them back,' ordered Roberto, sprinting across the gap, sacrificing his shield defence in the pursuit of speed. 'Archers, knock them down.'

  Roberto knew there was desperation in his voice but he couldn't keep the even tone of command. Adranis was struggling to get up again, trying to shake off the grasp of his erstwhile helper. The other cavalryman Was already on his feet and facing the dead.

  He'd lost his weapon and shield. He had nothing but his hands and feet. He moved towards them, just a couple of paces distant now. He kicked out, pushed and punched. Arrows slammed into dead either side of him, giving him space. But their swords lashed out, carving into his head and sides. He went down in a welter of blood and the dead were past him. Another blade came down.

  'Adranis!' screamed Roberto.

  His brother sprawled on his face, unmoving. The skirmishers barrelled into the dead, fury lending their strikes raw power. Roberto skidded to a stop by his brother. He dropped his shield, sheathed his sword and fell to his knees. The sword had struck Adranis's back plate and slid down into his lower back. The wound pulsed blood. It was deep and filthy. But he was still breathing. Roberto looked around him for help. There was none forthcoming.

  The skirmishers were holding the dead but no more, finding them almost impossible to put down permanently. The Tsardon were closing but Roberto could hear and feel onrushing hoof beats.

  Cavalry stormed in front of the Tsardon lines. He heard the clash of weapons and the screams of men and horses. He thrust his arms beneath Adranis's chest and waist and picked him up, blowing at the limp weight.

  'Hang on, little brother,' he said. 'Please hang on.'

  He ran back through the lines, running between two maniples that pointed the way to the only man who could save Adranis. Roberto thanked God for his one small mercy. The Goslander miracle worker: Surgeon Dahnishev.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  859th cycle of God, 35th day of Genasrise

  Kell took the cavalry into the flank of the Tsardon advance. They had become over-eager and while the pikes were bristling centrally, without cavalry support of their own, they were vulnerable at the edges. Her riders hacked and slashed their swords at undefended bodies. Horses battered past enemies, trampled through dying men. Arrows flew over her head, rattling on shields or finding their marks.

  The horns sounded withdrawal and she -dragged at the reins. Her horse came round easily, her move covered by her deputies. It gave her a view of the Bear Claws lines and her heart fell. The few enemy dead had been destroyed. The surviving cavalrymen from Adranis's detachment moved but there was no security in where they had been taken. And Adranis himself was not with them.

  As they galloped away, chased off by Tsardon arrows, she leaned into her senior hornsman.

  'Take them back in one more time. Right-hand flank. Then I want archer passes across the front of their lines. I'll rejoin you presently.'

  'Yes, General.'

  Kell galloped away to find Pavel Nunan. Every stride she took made her more and more certain. The Tsardon advance had slowed but it wasn't purely because of her cavalry. They had made enough ground to get their whole force on to the field. And when they did, they would roll over the fractured, plainly demoralised legion.

  Behind them, the imperial highway led up a sharp slope between two heavily tree-lined valley sides. Dahnishev had set his emergency triage area there a few days before. Always by the book, Dahnishev, bless him. Set with crag and difficult terrain, it was a place you could retreat a legion into and hold out against a greater number forced to attack upslope. She hoped Nunan was already contemplating it.

  She found Pavel in a tide of wounded and dying legionaries. In the half-light, his face was white and full of the shock they all felt. None but Roberto and Dahnishev had ever seen an Ascendant work before on the battlefield and it was a weapon against which there was no defence. Even so, he was marshalling one, manufacturing maniples from across the legion to present some form of front to the Tsardon menace.

  'We cannot fight this,' she said, dismounting near him and pulling him to one side. 'Retreat now. Get the legion back into the hills and regroup.'

  'The Bear Claws do not run,' said Nunan.

  'Oh, Pavel, look around you. When the Tsardon come at us that'll happen whether you wish it or not. And if another Work is used, what then? We've lost a third of our number—'

  'More if you count the wounded.'

  '—so let's move while we still can in some semblance of order.' She reached out and touched his face. 'The fact that they haven't been routed now says so much about your strength. But we need an Ascendant fighting with us.'

  'They're in Estorr, Dina,' said Nunan, his voice a hiss.

  'Then we'd better get messages to them quickly or the next thing they see will be the dead marching through the Victory Gates. We have to pull away now. Leave anything that'll slow us and get out fast.'

  'I'll not leave them one of our fallen,' said Nunan. 'Don't you see that's exactly what they want?'

  'Either that or risk giving them more by moving too slowly.' Kell pointed out towards the castle. 'My cavalry are spread too thin as it is. One break and they will be upon you.'

  The wind picked at their cloaks and hair once more. Never had a gentle gust caused such anxiety among professional soldiers. Kell could see some crouch reflexively, awaiting the blast. Nothing came by way of a hurricane. It was far worse than that. A stirring behind the reformed front line and through to the back of the legion. A weary twitch of muscle and the opening of eyes thought shut for good. Kell saw a man covered by his cloak sit up as if plucked to wakefulness by God. The cloak fell from his face and a tiny trickle of blood ran from a wound in his forehead. Those standing near him and hundreds like him, scattered.

  Screams and shouts ricocheted across the legion, swelling in intensity, driving terror into every heart. Breaking wills. The Tsardon didn't need to attack. The Ascendant didn't need another gale. The job was done most effectively. The Bear Claws, those that were able, broke and ran.

  Kell's mouth fell open. Her horse snorted and backed away, threatening to pull her over. She held the mare, just. Nunan was bawling for order, his shouts lost in the panic.

  'They're gone,' shouted Kell into his face. 'Go with them. At least be with those you can.'

  She gripped her reins and swung into the saddle.

  'Dina, come with me.'

  'I'll cover you as best I can, bring the cavalry in from the west. We can't ride near the dead. Go, Pavel.' 'Don't die,' he said.

  it isn't my day for that,' she said. 'And neither is it yours.' But as she rode away, Dina saw Pavel and a few of his bravest facing their fallen comrades and found no solace in her words.

  Roberto ran as hard as he could. Adranis was a dead weight in his hands. Blood was running from the wound. It soaked his brother's clothes and stained Roberto's gauntlets. His heart thudded hard, every beat painful. He had to ignore who it was lay in his arms. Had to avoid panic.

  The legion was in tatters. Standards were flying over a few maniples but Roberto had to look at his feet as much as ahead to avoid standing on dead or wounded. He didn't have the strength to be angry, that would come later. This desolation was a crime that had to be avenged. The fact of Adranis in his arms had to be avenged. But first they had to live to turn against the enemy.

  Hurrying through what was left of the legion order, faces loomed at him out of the pale, dust-filled darkness. Men and women were screaming. There were those that received help where they lay or were being carried back away from the front but most would get no assistance.

  Roberto barely knew where he was running. The line of tents and the temporary stockade that had made up the camp were gone. For the first time, he wondered if he would find any surgeon, let alone

  Dahnishev. And if he did, he had no guarantee they would be able to offer any aid.

  Behind him, he heard the roar of the Tsardon army, the clash of weapons and the thunder of hoofs. Dina Kell
was all that stood between them and slaughter and in the meantime, the Bear Claws had to reorganise. Roberto made it through the chaotic infantry lines, brushing off offers of help. A few tent spars were all that remained of the encampment. A hundred yards behind, he could see tent canvas and wood hanging in the boughs of trees and strewn across the highway. He could see people running across the road and heading up towards the southern crag. Not deserting, looking for a place to stand.

  'Dahnishev!' Roberto shouted into the tumult of battering noise. 'Where is my surgeon.'

  Someone was running towards him, dodging through legionaries and bodies. Hope flared.

  'Hang on, little brother.' Roberto ran on. 'Herides. God-surround-us, we're in a mess.'

  Herides looked down on Adranis and his eyes widened. He gasped. 'Master Del Aglios.'

  'He's still alive, Herides. Just. I need Dahnishev. Tell me you know where he is.'

  Herides nodded. 'I do. He's taken his people up to the crag. Did it the moment the wind dropped off. We were lucky, General. He hadn't unpacked much equipment on the battlefield. It's still in the trunks and they're undamaged.'

  'Take me to him.'

  'Let me help you, carry him for you.' 'No, Herides. This is my burden.' Herides nodded. 'Follow me.'

  The tenor of the shouting in the legion changed as if chasing them across the road and up the slope towards the crag. Roberto risked a glance around. He could see legionaries scattering from their positions. And in the moonlight, Kell's cavalry circled and pounded again into an exposed Tsardon flank. But the pike blocks were still coming and would find no resistance from the Bear Claws because the dead had awoken in their midst.

  Shapes of men and women loomed from the dimness. People were flooding past him, terrified faces snatched by the gloom as they went.

  'Stand and face!' roared Nunan, still unwilling to believe this really was a rout.

  He'd lost a third of the legion to the enemy. God knew how many more were lying wounded and dying out there. He couldn't contemplate losing the rest to fear.

  'Hold your strikes. These are our people.'

  Were they?

  Nunan's standard was upright and proud unlike too many others, discarded on the field. His extraordinarii were with him. Yet all they could do was watch from their position while the legion, such as it was, disintegrated.

  His hornsmen blared for order but the sound was lost in the cacophony consuming the Bear Claws. Estorea's finest. On the field, knots of terrified legionaries were hacking at those they had so recently known as friends, lashing out at anyone who looked suddenly different. The innocent living were surely being sent to bolster the ranks of the dead. Other soldiers stood in mute shock, just staring. The mass, carrying wounded with them if they had the courage left, just ran. Up towards the fires at the crag base.

  'We aren't going to form a line here,' said Nunan to his centurion. 'We have to get them all out of here. Take half and get back up the road. Reform there. We have to make a defence before the Tsardon break the cavalry.'

  The centurion nodded. His eyes were wide, his face disbelieving.

  'Go.'

  'Yes, General. What about the - the dead, General?'

  Nunan took a breath, unable to fully accept what he was saying. 'Leave the dead to me.'

  'Yes, General.' He turned. 'Count off fifteen. You're with me. The rest, protect the general. Get those we can back up the road to me. Move.'

  Nunan stared at the battlefield. Hundreds had streamed past him. Hundreds more were lost in themselves on the battlefield. He really had only one option. The Tsardon advance was being severely hampered by Kell driving her cavalry forward and back across their tight, crowded line. It was giving him precious moments but it couldn't last. Attrition and tiredness would both take their toll. Soon enough, the dam would burst.

  'Get amongst our people. Give me some order. Wounded away.

  Disengage from the dead. You know where to send them. Break up and move fast.'

  Nunan ran into the midst of the confusion. The dusty ground was covered in broken equipment, blood and bodies. He had to assume all that still lay there were alive, if only barely. Ahead were a group of thirty infantry, mainly hastatii. Leaderless and confused, floating wreckage. They were facing a knot of the dead twice their number. Nunan felt his heart skip a beat as he breasted through them, shouting them to lower weapons and back away. But they were screaming at each other and at the dead and he had to stand in front of them to get them to notice him

  This close it was so easy to see why many had simply run away. How could a man stand against his friend? How could he strike him yet how could he not? None should be made to face the fallen. Yet here they were. Nunan felt his shoulders sag. He knew some of these men and women. Perhaps ...

  'You're sure they're dead?' he said. 'They aren't attacking.'

  And they weren't. They were just standing, staring. Like they were waiting for something.

  'Of course they're dead, General,' said a hastati soldier, barely containing himself. 'Look, it's Darius. I was next to him when he fell. What is this, General? God has turned against us.'

  'Not God, just one of his wayward people,' said Nunan and raised his voice. 'Disengage. Get back to the road. Find the extraordinarii.'

  'But General, our people.'

  'And take wounded with you. These aren't our people.' Nunan shuddered. 'Not any more.'

  The hastatii turned and ran. Arrows were falling. The Tsardon advance was gaining ground inch by tortuous inch. Kell's cavalry had split again and rattled into both flanks of the enemy. The dead were beginning to move too. Forming into larger groups, organising into lines.

  Nunan stared, hypnotised for a moment. He watched them pick weapons from the ground if they had none. Men and women displaying no pain, fear or understanding. His legionaries with fatal wounds walking as if compelled by some guiding force. Huge sarissa gashes, stove-in helmets, split faces and bodies.

  'How can we fight this?' he said. 'What can we do?'

  'General?'

  He turned to his extraordinarii. 'Nothing. Let's get about our business.'

  Kell called the charge and her cavalry struck the rear right flank of the Tsardon. They'd tried to bring pikes to bear but it had served only to weaken the front of the line. Her horse drove through the flimsy defence, its shoulders breasting through shields, bodies flung to the sides as the uncertain defence splintered.

  She'd brought her people in on a narrow front, aiming to punch a hole right through to attack the rear of the pike blocks and expose the archers. They represented the biggest danger to the shattered Bear Claws. But she couldn't go on losing people like she was.

  Kell brought her sword down on the head of a Tsardon warrior. He crumpled and she was beyond him, striking out right at the next. Yet to her left, three of her riders were taken from their saddles by arrows. The charge lost pace, riderless horses turning to seek escape. Her own archers poured shafts into the lines in front of them. They struck shields, found holes in armour, pierced face and neck or skipped harmlessly over the ground.

  She began to turn, seeing more Tsardon reserve running to bolster the flank. She dug her heels into her horse and dodged her way through the press of horseflesh and enemy, charging back into open ground. Kell galloped away fifty yards before pulling up to allow the detachment to fall in around her. Away three hundred yards to the other side of the field, the Tsardon were moving quickly towards the road. The cavalry cover was faltering, outnumbered and being worn down. Horses were tiring and with no cover or relief, the outcome was inevitable.

  In the middle of the field, Bear Claws, those that could, were pouring away from the front and up the road, leading to an increased pressure from the Tsardon she was trying to hold back. And the dead. Dear God-surround-her, the dead were forming into a new front line and no one was standing in their way.

  'We've got to get round behind them,' a captain shouted in her ear. 'We have to make them turn.'

  He was l
ooking at the Tsardon, who outnumbered her cavalry ten to one and rising. There would be no glory this day. The very best they could hope for was for some to survive and buy others the time to take the path up through the crags. It all but brought a tear to her eye. It was a difficult and challenging climb. She and Nunan had been up, not ten days before, for some relaxation and exercise. That had been fun and the views had been spectacular. How the world turned.

  'They can slaughter us there. Trap us against the castle and the river bank,' she said. 'All we can do is buy the infantry as much time as possible. We cannot break them here.'

  'And should the dead turn on us?' he asked.

  'Ride away, Captain. And rendezvous with the legion. Some time today all of us will be standing on our own two feet, shoulder to shoulder with the hastatii, just doing what we can. I'll not put my horses in their way.'

  The captain nodded. 'What would you have me do, Master Kell?'

  'Take the message across. We are reforming to a single force. Get moving.'

  She watched him take two others and ride away and felt her hopes fade into the gloom along with them.

  'Dahnishev!' yelled Roberto. 'Dahnishev!'

  He was close to breaking. His arms were quivering with exertion. Adranis's wound had not stopped bleeding and it was only the continued flow that convinced Roberto his brother was still alive. Herides was ahead of him, trying to find the surgeon. Heads were turning. People were running towards him. He didn't want any of them.

  'Get back to your tasks,' he said, choking on a sob. 'Get me Dahnishev.'

  He was running towards the harsh dark rock wall into which a single deep gouge formed a treacherous pathway to its head some three hundred feet above. People were moving inside it. Through the trees that covered the slope, Roberto saw tents being pitched. He saw people carrying baggage, chairing the injured, and tending wounds on makeshift stretchers or just on any patch of clear ground.