The Tsardon took it and hauled himself to his feet.
'Come on,' she said. 'We might fight later but no one deserves to die like this. Let's get you out of here.'
He slung an arm around her shoulder, she one round his waist and the pair of them walked slowly away along the road, neither knowing what might be around the next corner.
Chapter Thirty-One
859th cycle of God, 36th day of Genasrise
Ossacer could find no answers on the Hill. Only the disciples of the Ascendancy strand of the Order could discuss scripture with him, and their allegiance was to the Advocate alone. He didn't need sycophantic interpretation. What he needed was genuine understanding.
For days, he had wrestled with his conscience, feigning illness very effectively, for the most part to keep away from Arducius and the new emerged Ascendants. Every moment he was away from them he wanted to run in and shout for them to stop their folly, to see what was right in front of their faces and refuse to bow and scrape without thought.
But it had become very clear to him in the brief time he had chosen to spend with Arducius that only he, Ossacer, had any sense left in him. The war machine was rolling. And not just in the Ascendancy. He'd been called to examine the elements that made up some explosive powder the Sirraneans had given Marcus Gesteris. Foolishly, he'd taken along Cygalius and the young lad had identified the ingredients in moments. The Advocate's scientists were sourcing and manufacturing even now, while in the classrooms, Arducius and Hesther taught fire and ice.
There was no one here to preach reflection. Mirron was who-knew-where at the moment. Jhered with her. And Vasselis, who might have had a thing or two to say about engaging in another damaging conflict without proper diplomacy, was away with the Advocate.
All for rumour too. Rumour that the Tsardon were approaching Gosland and Atreska and rumour that Gorian was doing something unspeakable. Actually, Ossacer believed the latter part but it was separate to a war in which the Ascendants were to be merely weapons. An arm of the military. Wrong. So very, very wrong. Only killing Gorian mattered.
Ossacer really felt he had no choice, and his heart was not even heavy when he walked out of the Victory Gates and headed for the only place he knew he would get a proper hearing and an alternative perspective. He understood it was risky. Foolhardy, even. But there were times when the service of the Omniscient transcended personal risk.
He felt like a recalcitrant child with his cloak hood pulled well over his face as he walked the warm streets of Estorr on a breezy but sunny morning. Sneaking by people who had no idea who he was on an errand that all those he called friends would try to stop. Genasrise smelled beautiful. The first flowers were in bloom and the mood was light. Even the scents from the sea were fresh. He expected every rooftop and whitewashed wall would be sparkling in the sun but that was a sight denied him.
Ossacer navigated by the currents of energy in the air and through the cobbled streets. He walked by people if they crowded the way, letting their life maps draw him a picture of what lay before him. No one would have guessed he was blind, nor that he was an Ascendant. One of the more famous people in the Conquord and yet none of them knew he passed. There was some satisfaction in that. And some relief.
The atmosphere in the city was troubled. Demonstrations had come as far as the gates of the Hill on three occasions. The Chancellor had maintained her demands that the Ascendants and their allies be locked away. Graffiti had been daubed on walls across Estorr. Offensive, frightening and unsettling.
His destination villa was enormous. Not just of a scale within a set of similar villas, but massive. Before approaching, Ossacer gauged the mood of the square in which he found himself, walking slowly around, apparently admiring the fountain at its heart. From his reading, he knew what the fountain represented. A tree in full spread, providing nourishment, security and comfort. It looked a bit of a mess to him. The water running through the marble upset the natural harmonies of the sculpture and made the map a chaotic mix of colours. He had been assured it was beautiful though.
Ossacer sniffed. Visual beauty. Another concept consigned to memory. It still left a bitter taste in the mouth. He moved on. The square was busy. It was set in the heart of a luxurious district of Estorr, high up above the harbour and commanding magnificent views it was said. Every villa had extensive buildings and gardens. All had private fountains piping water directly inside and giving their owners even more reason not to mix with the masses.
He could hear building work going on but couldn't quite place it. Roads led from the square in four directions. Down towards the harbour, left and right towards the arena and the Hill respectively and up to where the principal House of Masks dominated the skyline. Not a place for beggars, though of course they had more reason than most to look for succour here.
For a moment, Ossacer questioned his decision. There was no going back once he passed the guards and announced himself at the gate. But he could see no other way. Not if the Ascendancy was to be accepted and not if the Academy was to develop free of its tag as a military training camp.
Ossacer took a deep breath and strode up to the gates, closed against the public. Guards moved to block his path.
'I am sorry but the Chancellor is not able to entertain visitors,' said one in a gentle, almost apologetic voice that took Ossacer by surprise.
'I am sure she will want to speak to me.'
'A lot of people say that,' said the other, humour in his tone. 'And if we believed them all, the Chancellor would never be able to carry out her duties. You can write for an appointment and may be seen in the House of Masks but I have to advise you that the Chancellor's diary is brimming, what with the ongoing Ascendant trouble. I'm sure you understand. Please move on.'
Ossacer couldn't resist the dramatic.
'As I say,' he said, sweeping off his hood and looking up at the guards. 'I am sure she will want to speak to me.'
Both guards stepped back, staring at his eyes. Ossacer was drawing on the energy of trees in the garden and knew that browns and greens would be chasing across them.
'There is no need to be afraid. I am Ossacer Westfallen and I am here to offer help, information and advice in a difficult time for us all.'
He couldn't read their expressions but knew that they were looking at each other.
'Stay,' said one. 'Stand there, don't move.' 'I have no intention of doing otherwise.'
A bell was rung. Presumably it was set into the wall. It was an insistent ring and didn't stop until he heard running feet. The lefthand gate was opened and Ossacer counted four more soldiers approaching. He kept his expression warm though inside his heart had begun to thrash in his chest. No turning back now.
One guard watched him while the others gathered in a whispering huddle. Every energy map was shot through with nerves. Lifelines shimmered. Nearby, plants sampled the change in the atmosphere. If only they knew just how close they really were to nature. Shortly, three men marched towards him. One reached out as if to grab him but pulled back, not wishing to touch him.
'You will come with us.'
it is all I have been asking for,' said Ossacer. 'Please, you don't need to worry. I am here to make good, not cause trouble.' 'That will be for the Chancellor to decide.' 'Clearly.'
The guards surrounded him but kept at arm's length, walking him quickly between vibrant, pulsing beds of plants and flowers. Ossacer drank in their purity, using it to energise and calm himself. He ran through in his mind the content he wanted to impart. The only unknown was Felice Koroyan herself and whether she would give him the opportunity.
Inside, the villa was cool and quiet. The ceilings were high and Ossacer could sense great open spaces beyond walls and felt the weight of the two storeys above. It made the Ascendancy villa in Westfallen, a place he held in his memory as the grandest barring the palace itself, seem like a tight terrace. They walked thirty paces down a central passageway until he was shown into an ante-room. Two guards came in with him and
the door was closed firmly behind him.
Ossacer let the mind map of the room coalesce. He was a little weary from the effort already expended this morning. This level of concentration stretched the mind and he was no longer used to it. He made a mental note to change that.
The room had shuttered windows down one wall and was otherwise clad in wood panelling. He could make out the dark shapes of hanging paintings while beneath his feet was flat, cold black marble. There was a low narrow table in the centre of the room and recliners were placed along its long sides. Ossacer moved to one of them but did not sit. He turned and faced the door, wondering how long he would have to wait.
Herine Del Aglios, Advocate of the Estorean Conquord, walked down the centre of the Prima Chamber at the Solastro Palace, fighting to keep her eyes fixed upon her throne at the far end. In so many ways, it was as every time she sat before the Conquord Senate. The light inside sparkled from the white walls. Warmth eased up through the stone flags, pushed by the hypocaust below. The flags of the Conquord territories hung from the ceiling moved lazily; and the grand busts and statues, decked with flowers, gazed regally down on the esteemed assembled company.
And saw what Herine saw. Dozens of empty places on the three tiers of benches.
Marshal Vasselis gave her the tiniest touch in the back when he stopped to take his place among his full delegation. When Herine turned to sit down, she nodded her gratitude and smiled though she felt like raging. Numbers were a third down at best guess. That meant only two hundred facing her.
None were present from Bahkir, where marshal law meant that they had no debating power. The Dornoseans had withdrawn from the Conquord and theit absence was not a surprise. But, barring Neratharn and, of course Caraduk and Estorea, no one had sent a full delegation, so far as she could see. Gestern's absence was disappointing and a great surprise. Katrin Mardov needed a good reason for it. And while the Gatherer bench was sparse because of accepted duties, the fact that the Order bench was completely empty was a slur on her authority and position.
'Welcome,' she said, hearing her voice echoing across the chamber. 'The Conquord hierarchy must be astoundingly busy for the attendance here to be so reduced.'
The muttering of conversation had ceased. Her tone had produced the desired effect. Herine paused and stared at them, letting the silence grow to uncomfortable proportions. She put her palms together and brought them to her face such that her two forefingers touched her lips. She waited on as long as she dared before dropping her hands back to the arms of the throne.
'I am not naive,' she said. 'There is trouble in the Conquord. It has been a struggle to rebuild ourselves, following the war with Tsard. And rumours of new enemy forces approaching our borders are sure to cause anxiety. I understand that and my orders for mobilisation of the legions are specifically designed to counter those concerns and secure our borders.
'But surely the Prima Chamber is the place to debate our issues. The genasrise meeting sets the agenda for the year. I find it difficult to believe, therefore, that problems in your countries, most of you, are so severe that your delegations are small if they are here at all. I notice civil servants in place of at least three Marshal Defenders. I understand my executive orders would have been surprising and no doubt irritating, but that is no excuse for this.
'So you shall not be naive either. Do not think I will thank you that you have sent a delegation of sorts. I will not debate with juniors, I will merely instruct. Do I make myself clear?'
There was the clearing of throats and a nervous shifting on benches.
'Good. So first, I will hear the state of the legion mobilisation and arrival time at designated muster points. First, I would like to extend my thanks to both the Atreskan and Goslander Marshals for their personal attendance. Despite the immediacy of potential threat, you are here and I am grateful.
'I will thus turn to our somewhat sparse Phaskareen delegation. I am sure I do not know who you are, who represents your Marshal
Herine waited for the man to rise to his feet. He was plainly nervous just as he should be. Middle-aged, balding and in need of exercise. His toga was tied too tightly across his gut and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.
'I am Consular Secretary Karesidi, my Advocate.'
Herine glanced briefly to her left and scowled at Tuline. This was worse than she had been briefed.
'Consular. Secretary.' Herine clacked her tongue. 'What an honour. I have no doubt you are about to exhort me not to execute the messenger.'
Karesidi's laugh was shrill. Around him on the benches, every other delegate was delighted they were not standing and fearful of when they must.
'It is traditional, my Advocate,' he said.
'A feeble attempt at a joke,' said Herine. 'It is also traditional that when the Conquord Senate is convened, the Conquord Senate turns up.'
Herine's words echoed loud, her voice pitched to make them flinch. She continued.
'So speak the words your puppet-master bids you. I will make my decision on your fate when I have heard them. And I should point out to you, to all of you, that my mind is very much open.'
Herine leaned back in her throne. She looked over to Arvan Vasselis. He displayed the disquiet she felt. Poor Arvan. It never did get better for him. Karesidi coughed and cleared his throat.
'Our accounts and levy dues are with the Gatherer delegation for their examination in accordance with our obligations,' he said. And hesitated, wiping at his brow.
'Oh dear,' said Herine. 'Is that really the extent of the good news?'
'We received the mobilisation orders five days ago via messenger service. I received our response just yesterday. You have demanded that we should mobilise six legions. Three are the standing Phaskareen defence force. Three are from the trained reserve. All six to be full complements of four thousand five hundred citizens, and to be despatched to the Gosland and Atreskan borders.'
Karesidi gulped and Herine went cold.
'We cannot fulfil these demands.'
'Cannot, or will not?' asked Herine.
'As our accounts demonstrate, we are unable to pay for such a force. We are not a rich country and we give all that we can. We consider ourselves loyal to the Conquord.'
'I'm so pleased,' said Herine. The atmosphere in the chamber was taut. Karesidi looked about him for support. No one would meet his eye. 'Lonely, isn't it?'
'If we are to remain valid, useful members of the Conquord, we must first secure our local economy and security. Dornos to the north is no longer a friend. Gosland to the east is under pressure. Our muster has not brought the numbers required to send legions to the defence of the Conquord. Only to protect those interests which deliver the levies to the Exchequer.'
'Cannot, or will not?' repeated Herine.
'Both,' said Karesidi, voice a tiny whisper that filled the chamber.
'I see,' said Herine. 'You feel that to best protect yourself, you should allow the enemy to march uncontested all the way to your borders, is that right?'
'I understand your anger—'
'I very much doubt that, Secretary.'
'We cannot supply numbers that would be useful in the field without stripping our own border defences to the bone.'
'Your border defence is that which Gosland shares with Tsard!' shouted Herine. 'Your border defence ‘I: that of the Conquord. Phaskar is not an independent nation, it is a territory of the Conquord. And until today, 1 thought a loyal one. This. This is treason. Unless you can express a different view. Secretary Karesidi.'
‘I—' Karesidi gestured at his papers.
'You are just the messenger. Yes, I know. Here is what is difficult for me to understand. Unlike the Dornoseans, you are not telling me you are withdrawing from the Conquord. Am I correct?'
Karesidi nodded.
'And hence you still expect the protection and the economic, trade, transport and administrative support the Conquord offers. Don't answer that, it is blatantly true. So let me remind you, an
d hence your gutless Marshal, while he remains your Marshal, that a mobilisation order is not an invitation for debate and negotiation. It is a command from the Advocacy. And you will respond in full.'
Karesidi swallowed. 'My Advocate, I regret that we will not.'
Herine, the clamour of fury suffusing her body, saw Marshal Defender Potharin of Tundarra rise from his position on the front bench in front of Karesidi. He loomed large in the Prima Chamber. Potharin was a very tall old man, Marshal for over fifty years, predating Herine's ascension to the Advocacy. He was well built despite his years, heavy-featured and with a strong voice. Typically Tundarran. She awaited his words.
'My Advocate. Herine. It is with the deepest regret that I inform you that our decision is in accord with that of Phaskar. These are hard times. Difficult times, requiring new tactics and open diplomacy, not aggression.'
He wanted to continue but stopped. Herine was aware she was swaying where she stood. Tuline took a pace towards her but Herine waved her away. She sat down heavily and took in a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. Just to her left, Vasselis was gaping at Potharin. Herine felt as if she had been stabbed. God-surround-her, she had been.
'Tundarra would let the Tsardon march across Gosland? Gosland whose people stood in defiance of the Tsardon to keep Tundarra free of invasion?' She pointed a finger at Potharin. ‘I will send your most famous son to discuss this with you, Potharin. A son whose father's name is carved on the Victory Gates in Estorr.'
'Not even Paul Jhered could change this decision. It is the only one available to us. Don't make this difficult, my Advocate, please. We all know the forces on the Gosland border are not big enough to threaten us. But we have all heard the rumours circulating about what faces Atreska and what has already happened in Gestern. We cannot face them down on three fronts with any hope of success. We must negotiate.'
'I do not negotiate with invaders, just as I do not with traitors. The Conquord is a military might. The Conquord will fight.' Potharin's expression held a deep regret. 'Then the Conquord is failing,' he said quietly.
A Shout for the Dead Page 32
