'No, don't drink it, don't drink it,' shouted the man.
The goblet was long gone. Roberto shoved the man back, slithered away from him and grabbed at his gladius. Julius had backed away too.
it's how he did it.' The man was holding up both hands in a placating gesture. 'He poisoned them all.'
He was not Tsardon, this man, though he wore similar clothing. His body was short, his limbs long, and his feet were bare but covered in thick hair. The hands that reached out were immensely strong. Roberto relaxed just a little but kept his sword out in front of him while he got up.
'You're Karku,' he said.
'Yes.'
'What are you doing here?'
The Karku studied Roberto before answering, looking at his armour, sword and cloak.
‘I am trailing Gorian Westfallen. Looking for a chance to strike at him and his bastard son. They took that belonging to the Karku and we will have it back.'
'Then we are friends,' said Roberto. He sheathed his sword. 'And I think we have a great deal to talk about. I am Roberto Del Aglios.'
'The heir to the Ascendancy. I am Harban-Qvist. We share a friend in Paul Jhered.'
Roberto smiled. 'Now there's a man we could do with at the moment. But first things first. Are we safe here?'
Harban nodded. 'The last of them left before midnight. Gorian was with them. I couldn't get close.'
Roberto pulled out a bench and sat down, gesturing Julius to do the same.
'Speaker Julius Barias,' he said by way of introduction. Harban inclined his head. 'There is much work for your kind to do.'
'Yes, there is,' said Julius, with a glance at Roberto.
'This is the most peculiar situation,' said Roberto. 'So much has happened in the last few days and yet I feel I have missed the most important events. I'm stuck in a cold castle and the world is passing me by to the south. I would never think to see a Karku this far north. It gives me a chill that there is much more and much worse than I already understand.'
‘I will tell you everything I know,' said Harban. 'But first, I have
found clean water and untainted food. You're hungry?' 'Never more so,' said Julius.
It was plain but it was delicious. Bread and cold sauces, honey and some dried meat washed down with cold water.
'You mentioned Gorian's son. This some Tsardon brat, is it?' asked Roberto.
Harban looked at him as if to check that he really was joking. 'Much has passed you by. Gorian's son is Kessian, whom he took from under the noses of the Advocate and the Ascendancy.'
Roberto nearly choked on his bread. 'Impossible.'
Harban raised his eyebrows. 'Not so. The two of them will bring about the tipping of the world. Paul Jhered knows. The Ascendants know.'
'All right,' said Roberto, raising a hand. 'But all I know is that the Sirraneans said the Tsardon were coming this way and so it has proved. I suspected more attacks further south. What has happened?'
'Your Conquord is failing,' said Harban. 'And with it will go Kark, and eventually even Sirrane. Gorian took the six Gor-Karkulas from Inthen-Gor. With them, he can control vast armies of the dead in as many places as he has them. Two travel with him from here. Two march through Atreska with the King of Tsard. Two more will be with the Tsardon in Gestern which is become a walking grave. Plague ships seek out fresh ports to kill more of your soldiers. Soon the dead will be rising all around Estorea. I warned them but they wouldn't listen. And now we will all pay the price.'
'You're saying more than one dead army is attacking us?' said Julius.
'So that's how he does it.' Roberto drained his goblet. 'He uses them to help him do his work. Like commanders on a distant battlefield. What are they, latent Ascendants?'
'You know a lot about this,' said Harban.
'It's my job to know. I'll be in charge one day. Then we'll see change on the Hill.'
'What do you mean, Ambassador?' asked Julius.
'Nothing. Forget it. Harban, let's say for a moment that I accept Gorian can manage armies over thousands of miles of land, and I know better than to dismiss it out of hand, no matter how preposterous it sounds. But Atreska is full of Conquord legions. One of my most trusted friends commands the armies. What happened here cannot happen there because no Ascendant was present to make a hurricane. They won't break through, not just sword on sword.'
'You had better pray your friend is still among the living then, Roberto Del Aglios. Because I know the border is already overrun and the dead are marching to Neratharn. It is why more Tsardon went there. He can make a huge host in Atreska.'
Roberto rubbed his hand over his head, unwilling to believe Davarov had been beaten on his own border. 'So why, if what you say is true, did Gorian come so far north? The main force and the King of Tsard are both in Atreska. What is he doing up here?'
'It is because here, killing the king's son did not carry so much risk.'
'What? Rhyn-Khur was here?'
Harban nodded. 'Gorian doesn't want to topple the Conquord as a subject of King Khuran. Our writings are quite clear on the matter. He wants it for himself.'
Roberto held up his hands once more. 'All right. All right. Let's go back. I'm getting lost in some of this, I think. Tell me everything you know. Tell me what Paul Jhered is doing in all this, what the Ascendants and my mother said when you spoke to them and what is going on in Gestern, if you know that. Tell me which Karku writings you are referring to, and what exactly it is they say.'
So Harban did and when he was done, Roberto felt the cold of despair like he had in the wars of a decade past. At least he knew what had to be done. The trouble was, no one was in the right place to do it.
Twenty miles south and west along the highway that led south along river and mountainside, Dina Kell had also heard words that had turned her remaining hopes to so much ash. The Tsardon prosentor could have been lying but the look in his eyes told her every word he spoke was the truth. Three armies made up of Tsardon and dead and all heading through the Conquord, bound for Estorr and the gates of the Advocate's palace. Three armies who could communicate over vast distances because of Gorian and some kind of Karku priest. She didn't begin to understand but then, neither did the prosentor know how. He just knew that they did.
Ruthrar feared for his king much as Kell feared for her husband and her Advocate. Ruthrar did not think Gorian's mass murder was an act of spite or vengeance but a plan to rule in Estorr himself. And that meant King Khuran's days were numbered and that he would live only while he remained useful.
From the little Ruthrar knew about Atreska, the Tsardon and dead were marching freely across the country because no one would stand in their way. As for Gestern, the country was already as good as lost, so Ruthrar said. The dead there were massing in ports and awaiting ships to carry them across the Tirronean Sea.
And no one knew they were coming. Not one beacon had been lit if Ruthrar was to be believed. There was still a hint of pride in his voice when he spoke. An invasion supremely planned and executed. But within it, a sense of wrong that he couldn't be putting on, because Kell was sure he didn't realise he was doing it.
'So what would you want to do, in an ideal situation?' she asked him.
'Find my king in Atreska. Warn him. Take our people from the Karkulas and capture the Dead Lords.'
'You think Gorian could pull this disease trick from so far away?'
Ruthrar shrugged. 'Who knows what he can do. There may be other means, I don't know. But I must warn my king.'
‘I understand,' said Kell. 'But there's the problem. I have to report back to Estorr and I'm not about to let you out of my sight on Conquord territory.'
'The risk is worse if my king walks willingly to his death.'
'And Estorr will fall if no one realises what is coming at them.' Kell leaned back against a tree. 'Look, Ruthrar, for what it's worth, I think I believe you. But before I agree to go with you to the Neratharn border, I have to be certain my messages will get to Estorr and be treat
ed with the gravity they deserve. If everything you say is true then the Bear Claws, what's left of them, will be best placed at the Neratharn walls anyway. We have some time before we have to make a decision and we've other problems to sort out before then, not least what's coming behind us. We can't let them march on unwatched.'
'General?'
Kell looked up. 'Captain Dolius.' 'Permission to order the march on.' 'We've had our hour already, have we?' 'Yes, General.'
Kell nodded. 'Permission granted. And Captain. We won't have to do this for long. We'll lose them eventually, surely. They are already five miles adrift. I mean to increase that. Make sure everyone knows that.'
Dolius smiled. 'We'd march and rest this way forever if it meant not becoming like them.'
The dead might have been well behind but Kell could feel the menace of their march nonetheless. That and the two hours double-time march, one hour rest she intended keeping up for at least two days were the only constants they had. They were learning about the dead and their limitations and their one-paced march was one she intended to exploit.
Kell pushed herself to her feet and turned to Ruthrar. Dolius's order rang out around the small camp.
'Thank you, Prosentor,' she said.
'For what?'
'For your honesty in fear. In another life, we might have been friends.'
Ruthrar inclined his head, got up and brushed himself down.
'Such is war. Those on the front line carry only the hate their masters seed in their minds. We bear the Conquord legionary no personal malice but we hate your Advocate. She gave the invasion order. We're only fighting to preserve our way of life, just like you are.
'Your Advocate's decision to go to war fifteen years ago haunts us to this day. It's why we're standing here now. Let us not allow a second tragedy to happen because we once were enemies. We cannot afford our past to taint our decisions now or Gorian will win.'
Kell stared at him. His face was mostly hidden by the dark but his eyes were shining.
'I hear you, Prosentor. But the wounds of yesterday remain raw. Come on, let's ride.'
Chapter Thirty-Six
859th cycle of God, 37th day of Genasrise
Paul Jhered switched his gaze from left bank to right, and wondered whether the storm would have broken across Kirriev Harbour before their ship arrived. He had no idea what they would find there. The Hark's Arrow should be in the Gatherer berth but that was by no means certain. People were flooding towards the port and, he had to presume, every port on Gestern's western seaboard, looking for an escape from the dead marching unhindered across their country.
At least their small vessel was travelling quickly. Mirron, despite bouts of sickness, had managed to place a stiff wind behind them. It gave the oarsmen in the two ranks of thirty a breather and moved them on past the myriad vessels threatening to clog the River Tokarok.
Any warnings he could have sent south to Skiona and Marshal Defender Katrin Mardov would have been woefully late. The Tsardon invasion, backed by Gorian's hideous power, had overtaken this great country and all that was left now was to flee and try to find somewhere else to hold out and fight. Jhered bit his lip when he thought of Mardov. Perhaps she was one of the refugees running for their lives but he doubted it. Too much courage to turn and flee. The sad fact was that she was more likely to be marching behind the wave of Gesternans as one of the dead.
Part of him almost respected the perverse genius behind the invasion. In the early part of their voyage from Ceskas they had seen walking dead that were not soldiers. They didn't have to be. Fear had been the key weapon and anyone able to hold a weapon and walk with the dead was enough to turn the living on their heels.
So strange to see this beautiful country pushed to such extremes. The mountains still stood proud, the growth of genasrise was unhindered where the dead had not journeyed but the beauty was blemished by smoke and flame. In every direction, the evidence of fire was obvious. Smoke rose to blot the sky, buildings were gutted and the stink of ash was in the air. Panic had taken Gestern, fuelled by rumour and later by the sick knowledge that reality had not been exaggerated.
The wind in the sail began to drop. Behind Jhered, the captain of the trading vessel they'd hired for the river trip to Ceskas and back called the oarsmen to order. Blades dipped and the boat picked up its lost speed. Jhered was standing on the port rail and Mirron joined him there. She was pale, tired and looked sick. It wasn't just the sea sickness that had always plagued her. She could feel the disease in the ground and through the air. What Gorian was doing, from wherever he was, took strength from her.
The two of them stood together and looked forward. Kirriev Harbour was close. An hour away. Boats of all shapes and sizes thronged the river and Harkov had already brought the Ascendancy guard and Gatherer cloaks to readiness. Bows were strung, just in case.
'You mustn't hurt anyone,' said Mirron.
'Not if there is any other choice. But what we know and what you have within you are things we cannot sacrifice for the weakness of mercy. Not today. You have to get back to Estorr. I will order the fight if I must but pray it doesn't come to that, all right?'
Jhered reached out and ran a finger along her chin. She tried to smile.
'What will we find in Kirriev Harbour?' she asked. 'Panic and chaos at best,' said Jhered. 'Be ready because it isn't going to be pretty.' 'What do you mean?'
'No one is your friend when they feel you might live at their expense.'
Mirron drew into him. 'Will we make it?' Jhered shrugged. 'We have to.'
Every oar-stroke deepened Jhered's concern. The numbers of refugees grew. Thousands of people, some carrying a few possessions, some with carts laden down, all heading for the coast and a boat out of the country. They must know that there could never be enough for them all. Some had clearly made the judgement early. He saw men and women wading out into the shallows, babies and small children held high above their heads, imploring those on the river to help them.
Still more were swimming out, trying to grab on to the sides of any craft that came too close. He saw a low, overcrowded rowing boat rock violently and capsize. The river was full of noise. He even heard the clash of weapons.
'This is madness,' said the skipper, coming to his shoulder.
'We just have to get past it. Keep to the centre of the channel.'
'Yes, Exchequer.'
Every craft was beginning to do the same. A clamour was growing. Where one desperate man went, hundreds would follow. There was a thrashing in the shallows. His men and the Ascendancy guard were shouting for reason and order and were not going to inspire either. Arrows had started to fly from both shore and some of the larger craft. There were collisions, the crunch of timbers breaking. There were screams and there was anger.
Jhered shook his head.
'See what I mean?'
Mirron only nodded. 'What can we do?'
'Nothing. Nothing at all. We're already a target, look.'
He pointed to where a few small craft were turning ahead and heading for them. All had either one small sail or a couple of pairs of oars. Just river fishing boats but crammed with people wanting a way out.
'Exchequer?'
Jhered looked round. The captain, back on the tiller, had seen them too. His hand was unsteady on the tiller. He was not a naval man. 'Hold your course,' said Jhered. 'Don't deviate, whatever happens.' 'But we'll run them down.'
'If they get in our way we cannot help it. Up your speed if you can. We cannot afford to falter.'
'Yes, sir,' said the captain, but his unhappiness was plain.
'Mirron, stay in the centre of the boat and keep down. Better still, go below.'
'What are you going to do?'
'See if I can get some of these idiots out of our path.'
Jhered ran forward along the crowded deck. He moved his people aside and stood at the prow. The merchant vessel was low and wide, designed for heavy transport on calm water. It would be easy enough to board w
ere it not for the two hundred soldiers lining the rails. Not that that would stop some trying.
'Let's shout this together,' he said to those next to him. 'I'll keep it simple. Listen and join in. Not that I think it'll make any difference.' 'Yes, Lord Jhered.'
'Clear the channel,' he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to try and get some projection. 'We will not stop and we will run you down. You have been warned.'
Other voices joined his as he repeated the message over and over. Smaller craft still came at them, individual swimmers too, in the fast-flowing river. Jhered had no idea what they thought they'd achieve. Their boat wasn't even going to sea. That wasn't the point of course. They saw soldiers, they saw security.
Closing in on the first flimsy-looking fishing boat, every guardsman was shouting and waving them aside. Someone stood up in the little craft, crossing his arms backwards and forwards, calling them to stop and bring his family on board. Jhered went cold. They were all in there with him. A woman, four or five children. An elderly man. Two dogs.
'Clear the channel!' he bellowed. 'Move, move.'
But he wasn't going anywhere. The sail was down, the oars shipped, just drifting slowly and gently to port.
'Damn you, you idiot,' muttered Jhered. He turned back and shouted. 'Captain. Hard to starboard. Hard to starboard. Now. Ship oars.'
The order was relayed. The captain leant on the tiller. Below, a multiple rattle as the oars drew in. Jhered hung over the port rail, watching the small boat pass. He wanted to shout at the man, vent his fury but he could not. He and his whole family were staring up at the shadow of the merchantman looming over them so close, turning slowly away.
'Get into the mountains,' called Jhered. 'Find the Karku. There's no escape from Kirriev.'
The fishing boat, rocking in the wake of its larger cousin, was swept away aft. Oars tucked into the water once more. The captain brought the ship back to the centre of the channel. Jhered took up his place in the prow, ready to shout more from their path.
A Shout for the Dead Page 36
