So difficult to see. The woodland was dense up here. Worse than further down where he'd been able to move more easily. There was so much mess up here. So many legionaries screaming their pain. Every blade of grass it seemed was covered in blood.
'That Ascendant. Bastard Ascendant,' he muttered. 'You'll pay, Gorian Westfallen. You'll pay.'
'General?'
Roberto looked to his left. A bloodied medic had fallen in next to him. 'Yes?'
'Surgeon Dahnishev is this way.'
Roberto felt a cascade of relief. 'Bless you, my friend.' 'Let me help you.' 'No. Just show me.'
It wasn't far. A small tent, brand new by the looks of its creases, set in the lee of the crag. Soldiers were clearing the ground in front of it and setting up the triage site. Roberto could hear Dahnishev shouting instructions, his voice like a call to prayer. Roberto breasted through the tent flaps, gasping at the smell of blood and bile that struck him. The tent, a square shape, no more than twenty feet on a side, was packed with more wounded than he could quickly count. Dahnishev had an operating table set up in one corner and he was covered to the elbows in blood, which also smeared his face and clothes.
'Clean him up and put him outside. Watch he doesn't die unseen,' said Dahnishev, seeing Roberto's entrance. He hurried round the table and snapped his fingers to an orderly to help him.
'Please, Dahnishev, please. You have to save him.'
'Dear God-embrace-me, Roberto, did you run all this way with him like this?'
'No choice,' gasped Roberto, feeling blood pounding around his head, fogging his thinking.
'It's a miracle he's still alive, then. So we have that in our favour. Get him to the damn table.'
At last, Roberto let his brother go. After hurried scrubbing and the scattering of more sawdust on the floor to soak up the blood where they stood, Dahnishev and the orderly laid Adranis on the table. Dahnishev took a quick look at the wound and breathed in hard.
'Prepare him,' he said to the orderly. 'Clean the wound, get my instruments sterilised. I'll be back soon so don't dawdle. This man is not going to die, do you understand?'
'Yes, Master Dahnishev.'
'Good. Roberto, outside with me.'
Roberto gaped and gestured towards Adranis. 'My brother—' 'Will not die in the next minute and if he does I could never have saved him. Out. And let my people do what they're best at.'
Roberto let himself be brought out into the breaking dawn. The bedlam outside was growing. More and more wounded were coming out of the tree line right in front of the crag.
'I can't cope with all this,' said Dahnishev. 'I lost half my staff in the hurricane.'
'Just save my brother,' said Roberto. 'And not just because he's my brother. He's Master of Horse for this legion.' 'I know, Roberto, I work here too.'
Roberto blinked and looked behind him. 'Got this all pitched fast, didn't you?'
'Never fight without a secondary medical facility ready set up,' said Dahnishev. 'Not when you don't have a stockade.' 'Of course, of course.' Roberto sagged.
'Look, I didn't get you out here to discuss my brilliant planning and vision. I saw what happened out there. I'm hearing the stories now. And all around us, men and women are going to start dying. Do you understand?'
Roberto nodded. 'I know. I thought of nothing else while I carried Adranis up here. I won't have him become one of them.'
'And how do you propose to stop him, should he die?' asked Dahnishev.
Roberto knew the answer to that too. And he knew the consequences. He swallowed and looked up into Dahnishev's hawk face. 'Is the naphtha up here?' Dahnishev pursed his lips and nodded.
'I had it moved,' he said quietly. 'We couldn't afford to lose it to the Tsardon.' 'No indeed.'
'Can it be countenanced? Even now?'
'What else do we have? The dead are coming this way and we are showing no signs of standing before them. We are, what, fifteen hundred fit legionaries probably, facing the same number of dead backed by six thousand Tsardon. We have to even the odds.'
'Yes, Roberto, but to burn our own ...'
'I know, I know.' Roberto felt sick at the thought. 'It may be pragmatic but it's also the worst crime we can commit. We could do with a word from the wise and a little understanding to smooth the way.' ·
'He's right over there. Let's make this quick. Your brother needs my urgent attention.'
They walked to where the Order Speaker, Julius Barias, was kneeling by a stricken legionary.
'Speaker Barias,' said Roberto, making the Omniscient-encompassing sign at his chest. 'The Omniscient chose you well.'
Barias inclined his head and rose. 'Thank you, Ambassador. God sets us tasks and demands our strength to complete them. We can but do his work, wherever it occurs.'
'And you have not been found wanting,' said Roberto. 'The Bear Claws are grateful. Walk with us.'
The three of them walked back towards the crag, out of casual earshot.
‘I am no more important than any legionary standing with the hastatii,' said Barias. A thought struck him and he took a quick glance about him. 'You have not brought me here merely to thank me. You have an issue you wish to discuss?'
Roberto felt a flash of nerves. He wished they were seated about a table sharing wine and food, anything to relax the situation a little.
‘I do. It goes to the heart of our faith. You must know that I would not be bringing this to you if I felt there was any other choice.'
Barias smiled faintly. 'All right. You have me concerned for us all.'
'Good. You should be. There is not a citizen here who has been in a more difficult and deadly position. We face an enemy that flies in the face of God and faith, that uses sickening evil to attain its ends and would see us all marching without life or will to strike down our own families.'
Roberto thought Barias was going to break down. 'Ambassador, I will not sleep or eat for the pain it will cause me. I reach out to the faithful who should be in the embrace of God yet still walk and I cannot help them. And to think the one who perpetrates this crime was one born into the love of God in the Conquord. It tears at my heart.'
'Even though he is an Ascendant?' Roberto raised his eyebrows. 'Surely you don't believe him anything other than heretic, never to feel the embrace of the Omniscient.'
Barias sighed. 'The debate has been more fierce in the ranks of the Order than the Chancellor would have you think. Not all of us can ignore the plain fact that they were central in saving the Conquord and countless numbers of the Omniscient faithful. We must respect that, though their methods and their abilities are a challenge to God.'
'And here is another challenge.' Roberto took a deep breath. 'We cannot suffer Gorian to continue creating an army made up of fallen legionaries. Not here, not anywhere. Our dead must be rendered useless to him.'
'I cannot disagree. And though dismemberment is an abuse, the body may still be butied as complete. This is not a faith issue, it is more a practical issue, surely? There are too many of them though you have my blessing to try.'
Roberto held up his hands. 'You are both ahead of me and behind me, Julius. Please, let me finish. Because dismemberment is not now an option we must considet other methods. The Conquord has long held to the tenet that even an enemy can be converted to the way of the Omniscient and in war, it means that we must treat our enemies as we would our own. But that was before Gorian turned and changed the rules.
'And now we must be able to use the ultimate sanction on friend and enemy alike. And we must have your blessing for that too.' 'For what?'
'Naphtha. Liquid fire. Call it what you will. We have to burn the walking dead.'
Barias staggered back a pace. Roberto would have called it over-dramatic but for the expression on his face. He had blanked with shock. His mouth opened but he couldn't form words.
'Please, Julius, think.' Roberto held out his hands, fingers skywards. 'This is not a blanket tactic. In extremis only.'
Barias was shaking his
head, God-surround-him, his whole body was shaking.
'That you can utter these words, these thoughts. And ask me, me, for my blessing.'
'I understand your reaction and your feelings,' said Roberto.
'Your words are proof that you understand nothing,' spat Barias. 'To burn the flesh of innocents, to cast their ashes to the demons on the wind and see their cycles on this earth finished forever? To deny them the embrace of God? To speak such words is abhorrent. To carry out such actions a crime that makes you no better than a common murderer.'
'I sympathise,' continued Roberto. 'I really do. But—' Dahnishev put a hand on his arm. 'Let him speak. Let him explain the problems he has with what you ask of him ... we ask of him.'
'You agree with this heresy?' Barias turned on Dahnishev, his voice beginning to rise in volume.
'I know that unless we stop this harvesting of our innocent dead by Gorian Westfallen, we will all become his slaves. I would rather burn than be sent against my people, devoid of will and denied my rest,' said Dahnishev.
Barias snorted. 'It is not in your gift to choose whether your cycle continues or not. Only God can do that. And you most certainly cannot make that decision for Conquord citizens nor Tsardon invaders. No burning will happen. This conversation is over.'
He turned to go. Roberto grabbed his arm.
'No, it is not,' he said.
Barias looked down at Roberto's hand. 'You will release me, Ambassador Del Aglios. I would never have believed it of you. Your mother is the figurehead of our faith and yet her own son spouts filth. I have to consider what action I will report to the Order concerning what you have just proposed.'
Roberto laughed. He couldn't help himself. He released the Speaker and dismissed him with a wave of the hand.
'Write your report, Julius,' he said. 'Who will deliver it for you?
He turned away.
'It is my duty to make this a matter of record.'
Roberto felt something snap inside him. He rounded on Barias, grabbed his cloak at the collar and drove him back against the crag wall.
'Do you really have no idea what is happening here? Do you really think I care what you write and to whom you entrust it?' He pushed harder. Barias grunted. 'We face annihilation here. A precious few might escape up the crag but the rest will die. And unless we hack or burn them, they will become our enemies. Do you think that is in God's plans? Do your damned scriptures discuss an attack by walking dead who were once his people and torn from his grasp? Because they are coming and we have to defeat them.'
'Now, you listen to me,' said Barias.
'No. You had your say and you chose to insult me. Well now it's my turn. I asked for your blessing but I do not need it. You claim heresy but you do not know how this decision tears me apart. My own brother lies on the edge of death. And I will not let him walk against us. I would burn Adranis rather than see that and know the pain that he would be suffering.'
Roberto let Barias go and the Speaker straightened his clothing.
'The dead have no feeling.'
'No? Then why did the dead man Varelius hesitate when his centurion called his name? Coincidence?' ‘I—'
'Get out of my sight, Barias. And do not dare to spread half-truths. This is a desperate situation and any citizen who acts against us will be deemed guilty of treason. My mother is the Advocate, and that makes me number two in the Conquord. I trust I make myself clear.'
'You will be tried for this, Del Aglios,' shouted Barias. 'Your crime will not go unpunished.
He glared at Roberto and walked away along the base of the crag, shaking his head and muttering. Heads across the triage site had turned.
'You wouldn't really have him killed, would you?' asked Dahnishev.
‘I don't know,' said Roberto, and found he believed his own words. 'All I do know is that this plague will spread through the Conquord unless we stop it here. And if that means some are sacrificed to the demons, myself and my brother included, then so be it.'
‘I stand with you,' said Dahnishev.
'And with a heart as heavy as mine, old friend. I'll give the order to the engineers to open the crates. The dead are not going to wait, are they?'
'And Barias?'
'Barias must make peace with his conscience. As must we all.'
Chapter Twenty-Six
859th cycle of God, 35th day of Genasrise
It was worse stood here than in the chaos of the muster ground. Nunan was at the head of his vastly diminished legion. He had maybe a hundred sarissas and they were stretched across the road and on to the slopes of the valley through which it ran. Gladius infantry guarded the flanks as best they could but it was a woefully thin line. Perhaps twelve hundred but no more.
Yet even that was not what scared him the most. He thought they could hold against the Tsardon regulars for some time. Attacking his flanks through the trees would be difficult and costly, given where he had stationed his meagre number of archers. It was the dead that caused every heart to flutter and every man and woman to question their faith and their will.
They were not far away now and moving at an even pace and in sound order. That made it worse somehow. They maintained their legion discipline. But it was a parody. A line a hundred bodies wide and over ten deep. Some had shields, most did not. There were pockets of sarissas but mainly it was the gladius in hand. At a glance, they might be mistaken for the living and undamaged. But a second look told a completely different story.
Where one marched unhindered, another dragged a leg, limped heavily or swayed as if their balance had been stolen. Hardly a body was fully upright. Dropped shoulders, hunched frames, missing arms, heads hanging to the side or front. And silent. Silent but for the drag of feet over the ground. A dreadful scraping that picked at people's courage.
Nunan drew himself up tall. He was alone in command. Kell was still keeping at bay a Tsardon army lacking in any immediate ambition. It was easy to understand why. Nunan wouldn't have risked wasting his own people either. Their job was being done for them with hideous efficiency.
He could feel the fear and uncertainty in his legion. Standards stood tall but were gripped in sweating hands. The advance of dawn was bringing everyone sights they could never have conceived as night had fallen the previous evening. They were already wavering and the dead were still forty yards distant.
Nunan walked out in front of them and turned. There was precious little noise to quell and his numbers were so slight he could be sure all would hear him.
'Bear Claws. Second legion of Estorr. We know what we must face and it scares us. Out there, coming towards us, people that we all knew. People you will recognise. Friends that lined up next to you until the evil wind blew. It is hard, I know, but these who march towards us now are not those we knew. We saw them die. Hold on to that. That they walk does not make them live. That you do not believe the dead can walk does not make this any less real.
'We have a duty. The Conquord must not be threatened. These dead must be stopped here and then we can deal with the true enemy. But every time you strike, and for every one of our former friends who falls once more, pray that they may find the peace denied them.
'Bear Claws. Fight to free your friends from their thrall. Do it for them, for Estorea and for me!'
The shout of the Bear Claws answered him. He nodded and indicated his centurions, shorn of their Master of Sword, to take command. He moved through the ranks, making eye contact, assuring his people of his belief in them. The orders rang through the army.
'Sarissas to level! Gladius ready flanks. Moving in on my mark. Disabling blows.'
Nunan turned left and trotted quickly up the slope to his left, looking for a vantage point. His thirty extraordinarii joined him there.
'Thank you for your efforts,' he said. 'But now there's more to do. Stand with the legion. Be the strength they need. Even the triarii are scared down there.'
'Yes, General.' The captain saluted, right arm to left breast.
'Discipline. Order. Victory.'
He watched them run away, trying to radiate confidence. Centurions bellowed for solidity. Voices began to rise. First in prayer and then in song. The words bred strength and faith where there had been precious little.
'Omniscient surround me
Protect me
Fill me.
God my master show me
Hold me
Save me.
Estorea is my home
The Conquord cries your name
We stand as one
In your great light
To ever spread your fame.'
The dead simply marched on.
They were thirty yards from the Bear Claw lines. Nunan took his magnifier from his belt sheath and put it to his eye. The light was still poor but it was just good enough to bring him grim detail. Badges hanging from torn cloth. Blood lines showing wounds. Blank expressions. He stopped moving the magnifier.
One was different. He marched at the exact centre of the force and he was not dead. He was Tsardon, head covered in what looked like piercings and tattoos and he was speaking. His lips moved and though he could not be shouting, he was certainly saying something. The dead surely marched to his tune.
'Who ...?'
It didn't matter. What mattered was that he was there and that the momentum of the dead march had a metronome. Nunan grabbed his hornsman who was staring at the advance, shivering.
'Sound the advance. Sound the advance now.'
Nunan began to run back towards the rear of the lines. As the horn sounded its single long, repeating tone he shouted for attention from his centurions.
'Break their advance. They want us to stand in fear. Take it to them, Claws. Archers, target the centre. Tsardon commander is centre. Do it, do it now.'
More horns took up the order. The legion began to move. Songs swelled in throats. Arrows began to pepper the centre of the dead line, disrupting its flow. Left and right, the gladius flanks moved in. The dead ignored them, moving on forwards towards the sarissas.
A Shout for the Dead Page 26
