'Animals sense the coming of disaster before men,' said Harban. 'They are closer to the earth than we are.'
Roberto felt as if a veil had been dragged from his face.
'And the men are gone too. No travellers taking advantage of empty villages. No riders in the distance.' He stopped rowing and turned to face Harban. 'And no other boats. Not one in nine days.'
'What does it mean?' asked Julius. 'We've seen no beacons, no flags, no nothing. It's like we're alone in this country.'
'It means none would even run here. It means that Gorian is surely attacking through Atreska too, just as we feared, and all who escape him are fleeing south. And it means that no one knows what is coming at them from the north because we are the first messengers.'
Roberto sighed and rolled his words around inside his mind.
'So if Dina Kell chooses to go south to Estorr but Gorian turns to Neratharn and beats the walkers from the crags there ...' said Julius.
'Aye,' said Roberto. 'It means the Neratharn border will be attacked from the rear while all her defence is looking the other way.'
'Perhaps we should row faster,' said Harban.
Roberto took up the oars. 'And pray for wind, Julius. Pray hard, and may our God listen to you.'
King Khuran felt the first shiver of genuine fear and knew then that he might well have made a colossal error. The marching was done for the day. For the campaign, it had been a good one. They had cornered and slaughtered four hundred legionaries from the army that had disintegrated on the Tsardon border all those long days ago. Gorian had reawakened them and now they and their four artillery pieces marched with the Tsardon invasion force. 'But that's just it, isn't it?'
Khuran stared at the dark swathes of dead vegetation that had given the dead their impetus for the day. In the evening gloom, he could still see the dust on the horizon that signalled a supporting army he hadn't even known was coming, heading their way. They had marched north from Gestern. The Dead Lord in command had visited him that afternoon on the march. Lord Jaresh. A particularly odious specimen, who had been delighted to tell him that so many were awaiting ship in Gestern that these new thousands could join the march on Neratharn.
'Your Majesty?'
Khuran had been taking a hot herbal infusion outside his tent before making his evening inspection. His senior aide, Prosentor Kreysun, brother of the fallen hero of Herolodus Vale, was with him as always.
'Is this truly a Tsardon invasion or are we merely spectators. Whores following the trail of the greater power, looking for scraps cast from the table. Do I look to you as if I am in command?'
Kreysun reacted a moment too quickly.
'Your men are behind you to whatever end, my King.'
Khuran nodded. 'You should become a diplomat, old friend. That is not quite the question I asked. I'll be more blunt. What, by the lords of sky and stars, do I think I'm doing here?'
'Overseeing the fall of the Conquord.'
This time, Khuran laughed. 'Now that I cannot refute. But who do you think will ascend the throne on the Hill when the Advocate is cast down? Not I, I think. Nor my son, if only I was spared to speak to him.'
Kreysun was silent for a moment.
'You can speak freely to me, Kreysun,' said Khuran. 'My days of lopping the heads off those who speak out are long gone. Besides, if I do that, I'll still be watching you march tomorrow, won't I?'
'Not a pretty sight, my King.'
'You were never comfortable on the march, even with a head on your shoulders.' Khuran felt a little more at peace. 'Come inside. We need some privacy.'
The two men sat on cushions in the centre of the huge pavilion tent. Khuran's netted bed stood to the left, his dining table to the right. His armour and weapons were on stands to the rear. He dismissed his servants and bade Kreysun talk quietly.
'Gorian does not need us,' said Khuran. 'That has occurred to you, I trust?'
Kreysun inclined his head. 'But I am not as sure as you. Should we turn? Should Rhyn-Khur turn, and should our forces in Gestern not agree to transport the dead, then Gorian has no backing.'
'But he already has what he needs, does he not? There are three thousand ahead of us. Enough to scare away ten times their number. There are five thousand coming from Gestern. Five. I fear there is no one left alive in that country. He has pushed them all to the coast and murdered them there, surely. He has the Karkulas and he has the Dead Lords as his eyes and ears. What happens, Prosentor, when he decides we are no longer an asset? He can kill us in our sleep and he is a thousand miles away. At a stroke, he can add almost twelve thousand to his army.'
'You think he will attempt that?'
'It is just a matter of time. Why do you think the Dead Lords march with a hand on the wagons of the Gor-Karkulas. Speak. What are your fears.'
'My King, you have given me new ones to ponder on. Our warriors are unhappy. They too speak of feeling like the train behind the glorious army. We raid and we fight where we can but this is not battle. It is to Gorian's design. No one speaks out against you but surely in their hearts, they question our purpose. We are a warrior race, subservient to no one. Yet—'
He stopped and looked at Khuran. The king was neither surprised nor angry to hear what he had to say. He had been a fool and he knew it. That was where his anger lay.
'Yet we march to the tune of Gorian Westfallen. One man from the heart of the Conquord, who frightens us all because he can do what we cannot,' said Khuran.
Kreysun raised his goblet. 'He was so plausible.'
'We were too happy to bite at anything that might give us the edge and the ability to strike first at the great enemy. Now I wonder if we are not walking behind the true enemy of us all. Death used to mean glory in the annals of legend, a seat by the Lord of the Sky. A spirit on the wind, free forever. Now? It means what Gorian wishes it to mean. If I were a Tsardon warrior blade now, that might make me wonder if I should fight at all.'
'There is no secret the warriors are fearful of dying in this war. So far, he has not seen fit to raise our own to walk with us but I agree with you, that situation might change.'
Khuran drained his infusion and plucked up the copper pot for a refill.
'Yet what choice do we have but to follow him? If we turn away, we throw away what remains our best chance of ultimate victory. If we remove the Karkulas and Dead Lords we weaken ourselves beyond hope of victory.'
Kreysun nodded. 'We have no choice but to stay. One day, we will encounter the rest of the Ascendants and they too can kill from a considerable distance. And Gorian remains just one man ...'
Khuran raised his goblet to toast his friend. 'And that is the weakness of us all. We will talk to our warriors but quietly. There is a time and a place to make a stand and fight the decisive battle. That time may not be nearly as close as we think. The gates to Neratharn are a place where we can lose this war but where we cannot win it. The gates of Estorr are an entirely different place.' 'And Gorian?'
'Leave him to think he has us tamed. Even he cannot look everywhere at once. His weaknesses are easily exposed. All we will ever need is the briefest element of surprise.'
'Be vigilant, my King. A thousand miles away he may be but dangerous he remains.'
Khuran spread his arms wide. 'Kreysun, my friend, how do you think I have remained King of Tsard for so long.'
They clashed goblets and laughed again. A mistake it had been, a fool he was, but he was still at the table, and tables were for turning.
'Paul. Go.'
'My place is here. 1 am the head of your security.'
'Yes. And I feel my security is best served by you sailing with the Ascendants and winning me a battle or two.'
'You can hear the riots from here. How long before the Speakers arrive to demand audience with the Chancellor, only for you to tell them she is dead?'
'Long enough for you to leave. Have you seen the protection I've got out there? If any more come in I'll have to share my bath with them. God-surround
-me, I hope we can feed them all.'
Laughter.
'If I am standing with you, we are stronger.'
'No, it means we are four old people rather than three. Take-me-to-my-rest, Paul, do I really need three ex-soldiers grizzling about how best to save the Advocate's skin? Two is quite enough. Arvan and Marcus are entirely capable. You are still a field officer in your heart and you know it. Now leave before I have you thrown on the boat in an embarrassing fashion.'
Jhered woke again. He was sweating again too. How many times had he replayed it in his dreams? Why wouldn't it rest?
'I've forgotten something,' he muttered. 'Something critical.'
'No you haven't.'
The voice from the gloom of his tiny cabin startled him. He peered at the single chair.
'What are you doing in here?'
'Watching over you,' said Mirron. 'You were shouting out. Making the crew nervous.' 'Like hell'
'All right but you were shouting out.'
Jhered sat up in the bed. 'What have I missed. What have we missed?'
'We've done everything we can. Iliev has signalled the fleet about the threat and what to do. The flagships have been on station ever since the executive mobilisation order went out. The net is too tight. The Ocenii are hunting. And he's sailing to Kester Isle to bring out the reserve.
'We're on the fastest ship. Your ship. We have nothing to do but rest until we reach Neratharn. Estorr is in good hands. We have legions to the north, south and west, waiting for the warning signs. I know it scares you to be away but not even a mouse is getting into the palace to threaten the Advocate. We're covered and we have a job to do. We need to sleep and we need to plan our Work.'
Mirron moved to the bed and kissed his cheek. 'And you need to relax or we'll wish you hadn't come.'
'My mother used to do that,' said Jhered. 'Kiss my cheek when I'd had a nightmare.'
'Does it work when I do it?'
Jhered shook his head. 'No, because this is no nightmare. This is a message and I will not ignore it. There's something we've overlooked. I would stake my reputation on it.'
Mirron frowned. 'That bad?'
'Yes. That bad. Now if you don't mind, I need to go over it another hundred times until the truth pops out.' 'You won't find anything.' Mirron got up and moved to the door. 'I hope you're right.'
But when she had gone, Jhered lay back down, knowing that she was not.
Chapter Forty-Nine
859th cycle of God, 47th day of Genasrise
Arvan Vasselis felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. How fragile, the bonds of power. How slender the knife-edge on which order balanced. How disappointing that the stability and acceptance for which they had worked so hard these last ten years had been washed away so effortlessly.
'My son died saving you, you ungrateful bastards,' he muttered, turning from the balcony and back into the state rooms.
None of the others had heard him. The state rooms were grand and huge and all were well out of earshot. The palace's principal function suite was set out over the palace doors and facing over the courtyard and fountain to the Victory Gate. From that balcony, Herine addressed the citizenry, bestowed honours and entertained the more important heads of state.
Today, they awaited the Speakers of Oceans, Earth and Winds. The Chancellor's body lay in full honour in the centre of the room beneath the vaulted ceiling and its fresco of the battle of Karthack Gorge. She rested on a high table covered with pristine white sheets and with pillows for her head. Flowers of red, yellow and blue were laid at her head and feet.
The Chancellor had been washed and her face made up to hide the pallor of death. She wore her formal robes with her favoured gold circlet on her head. She appeared serene, resplendent, her face no more to scowl, to show contempt, to sneer or to disdain. Vasselis did not lament her passing, only the consequences. He walked across the mosaic-laid apron that separated the balcony approach from the rest of the room and down the single step.
Order ministers sat heads bowed and silent at the four corners of the compass. They represented the four principal elements and were her guard until she was interred to find the embrace of God. They wore grey robes, their heads were shaven and their hands covered in delicate white gloves.
Herine Del Aglios and Marcus Gesteris stood together to the right of the table. Conversation had long since dried up. Herine, altogether stunning in formal toga, gilded-leaf tiara, gold-braided hair and gold sandals, appeared calm though it was forced. Gesteris, armour and weaponry polished, cloak about his shoulders and green-plumed helmet under his arms, appeared as if he had never left his military career, so well did the accoutrements still suit him.
Hesther Naravny hadn't concerned herself with covering her anger or contempt. Her greying flame-red hair matched the fire in her eyes. Her Ascendancy-slashed toga and stola were direct challenges, insults to the Order dignitaries they awaited.
Vasselis walked over to her and she put an arm through his. The two of them turned away from the Chancellor to the blue sky and noise outside and above the gates of the Hill.
'Pretty ugly out there,' said Vasselis.
'Pretty ugly in here, too,' said Hesther, bringing a shush from the Advocate.
'Just go along with it for now,' said Vasselis.
'With what? You were not there, Arvan. You did not see the blood and the bodies of young people slaughtered by her hand. This is a charade. She should be ashes on the wind, not lying here awaiting the melancholy and grief of those innocent of the faith who do not know her for the child murderer I know her to be. You will excuse me if I find it hard to appear polite and deferential.'
The nearest Order member raised her head and speared Hesther with a baleful look. Hesther met the challenge calmly. Herine crossed the short space and took Hesther's other arm.
'Fresh air,' she said.
The three of them walked out on to the balcony. Flags hung from its balustrades. Early genastro blooms stood in display on four plinths adding a beautiful scent to the air. Ivy was woven through the stonework. Whatever Herine had been about to say withered on her lips. She gripped the balcony rail ands gaped while those outside who could see her howled and bayed. The noise swelled as the knowledge was passed on.
'The city must be empty,' breathed Herine.
Through the courtyard packed with soldiers, to the walls bristling with spears; to the five hundred cavalry on the apron beyond the gates standing behind the full sarissa phalanx, she stared at her citizens. Tens of thousands covering the apron in front of the infantry, crammed in along every approach road, hanging from tree, building and sitting on rooftop. Swaying, jostling and shouting.
The placards carried insult and declamation. But what hurt were the effigies hanging from pole and chain. Some bore Ascendancy colours, others the green slash and gold head and feet of the Advocacy.
'Don't they understand?'
'Unfortunately, they understand only too well,' said Vasselis. 'They understand the dead are coming and that the legions can't stop them. Only God. And their God denounces both you and the Ascendancy.'
Hesther tugged her arms free of them both.
'Still want me to play happy academy?'
Herine stepped away from the balcony and moved back inside, anxious to be away from the mob and to let tempers subside. 'When did it grow so huge?'
'It's been like that since news of the Chancellor's death leaked out,' said Hesther. 'The Order has orchestrated this, make no mistake. And we are handing them a martyred Chancellor. You can condemn her and sentence her retrospectively, why will you not consider that?'
'And then what?' hissed Herine. 'They all go meekly to their homes?'
'You think they will go when the Chancellor is handed back?'
Herine shook her head. 'But at least it will divert them.'
'Let's wait to see the mood of the Speakers,' said Vasselis. 'Until then, please, all of us, do what Paul wanted and keep our story straight and ourselves even-handed. Hesther?'<
br />
'Best I say nothing, then,' she said.
'Probably.'
'They're in the complex, I take it?' said the Advocate.
'They were at the head of the mob,' said Vasselis.
'Then let's have them in here without further delay.' Herine nodded at Gesteris and turned to Hesther. 'Check my hair.'
Hesther moved a strand or two from her face. 'There. Perfect.'
'Thank you, Mother Naravny. Stand behind me, won't you? I need your strength.'
Gesteris opened the grand double doors at the far end of the state room. He retreated quickly to stand with his allies. The Advocate had chosen to stand on the single step and could see the Speakers come in past the table carrying the Chancellor. Vasselis stationed himself to her right, Hesther her left. Gesteris took up station at Vasselis's shoulder.
Without a Chancellor at the head of the Order, the Prime Speakers were dressed as befitted the leaders of the elements. Vasselis had always found it gaudy. Like a male bird preening and displaying for a mate. Their robes were brightly embroidered with imagery of earth, or ocean or sky. Bright colours, voluminous material. All had shaven their heads in deference and the new growth of hair symbolised the renewing of a cycle under God.
With their personal entourages, they poured into the state room. In moments, the sound of their sandals on marble was eclipsed by that of their grief. Wailing and crying, shouting prayers and quoting scriptures. They draped themselves across the Chancellor. Kissed her feet, fingers and cheeks. Their faces were crumpled like discarded parchment. Tears rolled unchecked. Whole bodies shook.
'Give me strength,' muttered Hesther.
The vaguely nauseating display went on for an eternity. Herine did not move a muscle, waiting for them to finish. Vasselis wondered what was really going through their minds. No doubt they were stricken by. their first view of the dead Chancellor but they, and their absent colleague, the Speaker of Fire, would all be vying for ascension to the Chancellery.
A Shout for the Dead Page 49
