A Shout for the Dead

by James Barclay

  Hasfort was at the southern end of the Tharn Marches. A place renowned for engineering excellence. A place among others that the Conquord relied upon for its onagers, ballistae and scorpions. A place to increase his strength and versatility. The few hundreds in front of them right now could wait. Gorian knew where they were going.

  'Father, please. You need to rest.'

  Gorian looked down at him. His expression was not all sympathy and concern.

  'You think you see weakness, boy, but you do not. The effort to control such forces is tiring, even for one such as me. You and the Karku, you have no conception. But I feel them, I feel my people. Each and every one as if he is joined to me by a thread I cannot break. I am the tree and my roots are everywhere through this earth. My people, they are the new shoots that spring from the ground. I make the ground feed them and they worship me for my care.

  'So do not think me weak, Kessian. I am stronger than you can imagine. But with strength sometimes comes pain.'

  Kessian's face was blank.

  'Young minds can never understand the workings of gods.'

  'But you aren't a god, Father. You're an Ascendant.'

  'Not a god to you, perhaps, but then, you are my son. But to them, to the dead given new life, how else do you think I appear to them?'

  'You don't look well, Father,' said Kessian. 'Your face. It's all blotchy and rough.'

  Gorian felt his left cheek and smiled. He felt the skin protest as it moved, almost creaking.

  'I am close to this earth. Is it not right that I take on new skin? The Ascendant will always become that which he loves if he chooses. I choose the strength of wood and the power of earth. It becomes me as fire becomes your mother.'

  'You won't hurt her, will you?'

  'I could never hurt her,' said Gorian. 'I want us to be the family we should always have been. It's one of the reasons I am doing all this. For you and for her. Now, I think I might travel on the cart. Help me back there, will you?'

  'Yes, Father.'

  Kessian seemed a little breathless. Perhaps it was the dream of uniting under his mother and father. What a world it would be under the control of the first family of true Ascendants. Majesty and deity, empire without end. It was enough to set Gorian's heart fluttering in his chest.

  He let Kessian help him onto the back of the cart and then sent the boy away to walk with Lord Tydiol and learn more about the dead under his control. If he was to become general of his own force one day soon, he had to understand the nuances of energy that kept each individual working within the mass and how each fed off the others to make the whole stronger.

  'Why don't you let me help you, Father?'

  'How can you help me?'

  'Let me raise animals to pull the carts. Ease the burden on you.'

  'No,' said Gorian, his tone startling Kessian. 'You cannot trust an animal. And you cannot waste your energy on mere beasts. Men are our army and they are our workforce and muscle. Never forget that.'

  Gotian winced as he drew his legs up. The pain had been getting steadily worse since dawn. He drew up the hem of his shabby-looking toga and tensed. From the top of his boots to the middle of his thighs, the skin was discoloured. Brown and thickly veined. In places, he could feel that it was as dry as bark. In others, it felt brittle like dead leaves.

  He pushed the material back down, aware that the smell of his legs was not entirely wholesome either. But then, neither was the earth itself. Mould and rot sat by vital soil and new growth. One could feed the other and so it would be within him. He remembered a time when he would regenerate almost on a whim. Those skills seemed difficult to recall now.

  Gorian lay back for a moment. His body wasn't important. The well of his mind would keep it in the basic condition needed to do his Work. He could feel the thousands of lines emanating from him, channelling through Kessian and the Gor-Karkulas to be amplified again before reaching the dead. All were linked to him as all the living were linked to the Omniscient through the earth.

  Along the coast of Gestern, they were mustering in their thousands. It was his most successful force. Everywhere, the Conquord had tried to hold them back and resistance had brought them to him. They would wait now, feeding from the earth under their feet, keeping them fresh for the difficult journey to come. Many would fall but enough would survive.

  And they would fall on Caraduk, Estorea and Easthale like a wave washing up a tidal river. Unstoppable by man, only by god.

  Only one place would remain free, because everyone had to keep something of their former selves pure and real. Gorian had chosen home.

  In Atreska, they marched without opposition and had sought out those they could attack. It had been only moderately successful and Gorian had to remain satisfied that King Khuran and his twelve thousand marched behind the dead. Their actions had brought new subjects to the fold and with them came the artillery Gorian had demanded be scavenged and stolen.

  Yet it worried him that the Atreskan defenders had chosen their course of no resistance. He thought to meet them all at the border with Neratharn but was uncertain of their numbers. He needed a way to ensure his subjects, who had so far endured the long march from the Tsardon border, had the strength left to breach those defences. Too many were falling, decay taking them. There had to be a way to boost their hold on life.

  And of course, there was. The dead fed off the slumbering power of the earth as did the vegetation that sprang up with such enthusiasm now genastro was in full voice. Beautiful new life surrounded his subjects, taunting them as slowly they faded, the rot in their bodies eventually overcoming his grip on them. Earth was solid, unquenchable energy. Vegetation was bright light in comparison, its energies those of renewal and of hope. Energies he could give to his people.

  Gorian relaxed and felt some of his pain begin to ebb. So simple, he used himself as first recipient. Around the cart as it moved along the grass track towards Hasfort, the green shoots and new flowers, fruit buds and leaves withered and crinkled, giving up their life, bringing them to an early dusas. Gorian let his body map take in the energy, feeling it suffuse him, roar through him like the rush of fire through dry straw.

  He played the shape out through the thousands of lines to his subjects, god giving health to his faithful, and knew his benevolence toward them would have no end and that they would worship him for it.

  The Gor-Karkulas in the wagons of the Tsardon King jerked as energy flooded through them and away out to the dead marching through

  Atreska. Great swathes of grass on the gently waving plains stiffened and discoloured, turning brown and crumbling to little more than dust. Tsardon warriors shouted and cursed, hurrying away from the dead as the circle of destruction expanded out.

  King Khuran stood his ground and watched the grass die as it passed under his feet and away for fifty, a hundred, two hundred yards before slowing and stopping. The dead force responded. They stood taller. Feet that had dragged were picked up again. The sick stench of their decay lessened and it seemed that a whisper of health issued from their lips. A cry of new hope.

  He turned to his aides.

  'What is he doing now?'

  'The point is, Julius, that unless we stop this bastard in whatever way we can, you won't have a damned flock to minister. I fail to see why that is so difficult to understand.'

  Three days in a small, single-masted, single oar-paired boat and Roberto was ready to kill. The only thing that stopped him was that the object of his urge was the man he had risked his own life to save. The argument was circular and endlessly frustrating. They hadn't come to blows yet but that was mainly due to the calming influence of Harban-Qvist who would gently, or not so gently, remind them of the task in hand.

  They had to reach Neratharn and the Gaws before the dead swamped the defences and they had to get messages to Estorr about the threat from the north and east. They needed Ascendants to help unpick the damage one of their own was causing.

  'But there must be another way, bar
ring the use of fire.'

  'And just say, for the sake of argument, that there isn't? And just say, for the sake of my sanity that we haven't been down this particular dead-end before?'

  'Another way must be found,' said Julius.

  Roberto looked up at the sail and trimmed the tiller position a little to keep it taut. They'd been lucky with wind direction so far but it had been the source of another argument when Harban had suggested that God was helping them get to their destination by sending wind to the sail. It wasn't quite the way Julius saw things. As usual.

  'All right,' said Roberto. 'And this is my final offer. Let's go to a completely theoretical world. And in that world, let's postulate that the use of fire is the only way to ensure the security of the mass of citizens of the Conquord. Every other way has been thought of, tried and discarded. Does it not make sense that in that instance ... Wait, let me finish, Julius, and please, try to prise open your mind just a little to let the air in. Does it not make sense in those unique circumstances to accept that the sacrificing of a relatively few is better than ultimately sacrificing pretty much everyone? Remembering of course that unless you use fire, the dead cannot be stopped.'

  'The ending of the cycle of an innocent is not the right of any man on this earth,' said Julius carefully.

  'I have accepted that from the moment we stepped on to this boat. Answer the question.'

  'I have.'

  'So, what you're telling me is that you would rather see the entire Conquord of Omniscient faithful fall under the death walk of Gorian Westfallen than see a single innocent burned to prevent that from happening. In fact, that you yourself would rather become one of the walking dead, thereby denying you your right to find God's embrace, rather than burn even one poor unfortunate who is already in that position.'

  'I am saying that we cannot resort to evil to rid the world of evil.'

  'You really are a fucking idiot aren't you?'

  Barias winced. 'All I do is uphold the tenets of my faith.'

  Roberto flapped a hand at him. 'You really don't get it. The rules have changed. Gorian has seen to that. You have to adapt. You have to move forward. And you have to make the hard choices that benefit the mass at the expense of the unfortunate.'

  'True faith will turn them from their path,' said Julius, smiling indulgently.

  'Right. Like it did at the base of the crag? As I recall, I saved your life that day. Where would your faith have got you if I hadn't been so stupid, eh?'

  'I am just one man. Bring Order ministers to bear in numbers and the power of our wills will take the desire to walk from the dead and they will fall into God's embrace once more.'

  Roberto looked skywards. Cloud was overhead, the wind blowing along beneath it.

  'Well, it can't be sunstroke.'

  'What can't?'

  'The reason for you talking such utter nonsense. But why should I care? Actually, you've just cheered me up, now I come to think about it. Let's do it your way absolutely. We'll round up all the Order ministers that are willing, plus the Chancellor, and we'll wave you. goodbye at the Gaw’s gate. You can go and do your faith thing and when you're all dead there'll be no miserable whining to stop soldiers like me doing what must be done to save the Conquord and its people.'

  Roberto laughed and pulled in the main sheet a little. Guilty satisfaction rolled over him.

  'I will be happy to walk before the dead with my fellow believers at my sides,' said Julius but there was no conviction in his voice.

  'Don't make me laugh again, Barias, my sides are already hurting. You don't have the guts and what is more, you know you will die. You know it. Deny that and I'll throw you over the side.'

  'Your arguments are puerile and childlike,' said Barias.

  'Really? Or just simple and pragmatic? Julius, I am happy to call your bluff when the dead are within earshot. Push me and I'll do it. But do me this one favour first. See what comes at us from wherever it comes. Look inside yourself first before letting your pride get you killed.

  'The thing is, we don't have to like each other and that is comforting. But after this is over, the survivors will need the Order like never before. They'll need people like you. You might be a fucking idiot, Julius, but at least you've got faith.'

  Chapter Forty-Four

  859th cycle of God, 46th day of Genasrise

  Herine Del Aglios didn't come by sea for the final part of her journey back to Estorr. A bird had reached her. The message was brief but it had been signed by Jhered and that was enough. She came in by the River Havel, arriving under cover of darkness in the private marina deep in the valleys to the west of Estorr, thereby coming back to the Hill almost completely unobserved.

  She'd spent the last two days gnawing at her fingers while all the while Vasselis and Tuline had tried to calm her. Times of war leading to greater security precautions. The Advocate being able to take no risks. Assassins could be anywhere. Etcetera. But she knew some form of calamity had struck Estorr. She knew Jhered too well for there to be any other explanation.

  Nothing had prepared her for what she had heard when her entourage had swept in under the Victory Gates in the early hours of the morning. It explained the reason for the many fires she had seen down in the city. At one point she thought perhaps the invaders were already in Estorr but had dismissed that as the anxiety of a tired mind. Now she wished it were true. At least your declared enemy was one you could understand.

  The enemy that had unveiled itself within the walls of the palace complex was one whose defeat was difficult if not impossible to achieve and certainly not while maintaining the support of the citizenry. Herine had met Jhered as she descended from her carriage. She recalled the rage drowning her as they walked to her private chambers in the palace. She had wanted to go straight to the cells then and there but Jhered had made her freshen herself after her journey, change from her dusty clothes into a formal toga and her Advocate's circlet; and then sit down with a goblet of hot, unsweetened wine.

  He was still there now, with her in her least favourite reception chamber, prowling while they waited. Herine watched him. He walked out onto the balcony that looked down over the harbour of Estorr and the unrest that flared there every night. He walked the circumference of the large room with its half columns decorating the walls, its bust-filled alcoves and its paintings of great generals and Advocates.

  Jhered paused by that of his grandfather and nodded solemnly at the dour visage, no doubt apologising for the state of the Conquord. He glanced up at the deep green silk sheets that hung from the ceiling, covering a mosaic of Omniscient glories that Herine had never liked. He walked back into the centre of the room and stood across the table from where she sat, ignoring the recliner at his back.

  'Are you ready?' he asked.

  'I've been ready ever since I got out of my carriage, Paul. Now I'm just marking time while you wear dents in my marble.' 'She's not even contrite,' he said. 'She's never contrite.'

  'But she's never committed such serious crimes before. Herine, she wanted to depose you and install herself. And she very nearly succeeded. If I'd been a little later, if the Ascendants had given in to her ...'

  'What the Ascendants did, or one of them, I'll deal with later. You already have my eternal gratitude.' Herine held up a hand. She smiled at him, his face getting craggy with middle age and the lines around his eyes deep with his concern for her and the Conquord. He could still make her feel warm and secure merely by his presence. 'I know why you're telling me this and I will not let her goad me, I promise. But I have to meet her alone. Stand outside the door by all means but this is something I have to face as the lonely ageing Advocate, all right?'

  Jhered nodded and finally, he sat down.

  'I remain unsure why, Herine. She's a murderer, she has committed treason and she must burn. Just put her on public trial. It's the only way to calm the city.'

  'Come on, Paul. Felice and I have been friends in the past. She has done magnificent work for the Conquo
rd in her time. I've known her for decades. I know what she's done is unforgivable but still I feel I owe her one last chance to explain herself to me in private. Gain some redemption.'

  'What will you say?' he asked.

  Herine sagged. 'Oh, dear Omniscient, I don't know. What do you say to Chancellor Koroyan?'

  'Lonely Advocate ...' Jhered tried a smile but it didn't come off.

  'You know you haven't even asked me about the Solastro Palace senate meeting,' said Herine.

  She stared at him again and understood the extent of the horrors he had seen in the palace. It took a great deal to shake up Paul Jhered.

  'And you haven't asked me about Kark and Gestern. But one thing at a time, eh?'

  Herine shook her head. 'Not exactly. You need to find Arvan Vasselis and my daughter at the earliest opportunity. Sit with Marcus Gesteris and Elise Kastenas. And maybe Arducius.'

  'What happened?'

  'Half the Conquord decided not to send troops but defend their own petty borders.' Herine could feel herself flushing at the memory. 'What's in Neratham, Gosland and Atreska fight now is pretty much all they'll be getting.'

  Jhered sneered. 'Don't tell me, Phaskar has been listening to Dornos.'

  'And Tundarra, Paul. I'm sorry.'

  The colour drained from Jhered's face. He stood abruptly and turned away, catching sight of his grandfather's portrait. He cleared his throat and swallowed. When he turned she thought she could see his eyes glistening but it might have been a trick of the lantern light.

  'I'll have them send in the Chancellor,' he said. 'Be careful.'