A Shout for the Dead (39 page)

Nunan turned to see the speaker moving through the ranks of exhausted, bemused legionaries. Nunan put up a hand to still the voices that rose in support of the Order minister.

'You will wait before coming into the area of combat,' said Nunan.

'This is not combat. This is slaughter. It is murder.'

Nunan stepped up to him and waved legionaries away from them. 'I will not have you cause trouble down here. This is not the time or the place.'

Kell, leading her sweating, tired horses and riders, pulled up around the edge of the battlefield on the slope heading up to the crag. Nunan turned.

'General Kell,' he said and smiled. 'It is good to see you still upright. The Tsardon?'

'Withdrawn,' she said, her gaze and that of every rider on the dead, some still smouldering though legionaries moved among them to do what they could. 'I didn't know why, they almost had us but now
...
what happened here?'

'Desecration and heresy happened—'

'Speaker Barias you will be quiet. Remember your place.' He turned back to Kell. 'We'll talk later. Best get your horses seen to at the rear staging area. We've still got work to do here.'

'Are you all right, Pavel?'

Nunan shook his head. 'No one is all right, Dina.' He raised his voice. 'Bear Claws! We must have all our fallen dismembered and buried. You do God's work now and I will be with you. Today, you are all heroes of the Conquord. Today you must honour your comrades and pray for them.'

Barias opened his mouth to speak but Nunan grabbed his cloak.

'And you, Speaker Barias, will do your appointed task in this legion. Spread no dissension. No matter what your feelings we still face six thousand Tsardon and we must not fall before them. Do I make myself clear?'

'General Nunan—'

'Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, General.'

'Good. Bring the bodies into the trees to bury. I will be with the surgeon, my wife and the ambassador when you are done.'

Nunan turned away and breasted through the legion, which was coming to reluctant order under the insistence of its centurions. He found Roberto already walking back towards the crag, his head hung low, his bearing stooped.

'It had to be done, Pavel,' he said when Nunan hailed him. 'We had no other choice.'

'But what have we started? And where will it end?'

Chapter Twenty-Seven

859th cycle of God, 35th day of
Genasrise

Gorian's scream of frustration had brought them all running. He had tried to hide the pain but his head was pounding and he had no idea if he had been successful. In those final moments, he had lost control of them all. Their wills, so easy to subvert, had reasserted themselves in their moment of greatest fear.

It had left Gorian weak, furious and not a little confused. He pushed himself from the chair in his adopted chamber and walked away a few paces, palms to his temples.

'What did they do, Father?' asked Kessian, who had been with him the whole time, supplying the well of power for him to direct the battle. The boy looked none the worse for the shock but then he had merely been a conduit, not the architect.

'They burned them,' he said, disbelieving. 'Omniscient followers threw fire over their own people. They would deny them the embrace of God. That cannot be allowed. They were my people. I made them walk again. They had no right. No right to do that to my people.'

Gorian found his anger lending him new strength. Two Dead Lords stood in front of him now along with the King's son, Rhyn-Khur.

'A weakness, Westfallen?' asked the prince.

'A crime,' said Gorian. 'One that will not go unpunished.'

'Who by, you?' Rhyn-Khur made no attempt to keep the sneer from his voice. 'Lost your army, didn't you? You are weak without them.'

Gorian shook his head. 'Don't make that mistake, Rhyn. Not ever.'

'We should have pressed on. I could have broken their cavalry. Then we would have fallen upon them, destroyed them. Your caution has led us nowhere. We can still win today. They are in disarray. Order the attack.'

'No,' said Gorian. 'We cannot risk it. We already have the victory we need today. We must produce dead under control. What you suggest is not control and they have just shown intent we hadn't foreseen.'

'Perhaps you did not, but nothing they do surprises me or any warrior of Tsard. At heart, they are godless. Quick to turn their backs on their faith if it suits their purposes. That the Ascendancy flourishes is evidence enough. Today merely reinforces that which we already knew.'

'It changes nothing. I must think and I must rest. I must tell our forces in Atreska and Gestern what has happened here and then we must move forward again.'

'Ridiculous,' said Rhyn. 'We should move forwards now. They are in disarray and hiding under a cliff. We must slaughter them now and move on at once.'

'We will do no such thing,' said Gorian quietly. 'They are going nowhere. You can move to surround them but no more. I want them in my way. Undamaged if we can. And with Roberto Del Aglios leading them to battle at the gates of Estorr.'

Rhyn stared at Gorian, hatred undisguised. 'My father made a grave error leaving you in charge here.'

'I'll be sure to let him know. Now leave me. There is much to do and I need
my
strength.'

'You are incompetent, Gorian Westfallen. My father will see it and command will be mine.'

Gorian laughed. 'Your protestations are pathetic. I am in charge because only I can ensure the victory of our combined forces. No one is about to take command from me. Least of all you, my Prince.'

Rhyn-Khur pointed at him. 'One day, Westfallen. One day.'

He spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. The Dead Lords remained. The chamber was cold. A new fire had been laid but its warmth had not reached all corners. It was a bleak castle, this Conquord structure. Not designed for comfort. But it was strong and functional and that was something not to be dismissed. More than that, it boasted plenty of escape routes for the quick individual, both back into Tsard and into lonely Conquord lands.

'Lord Garanth has been taken alive,' said Gorian.

The Dead Lords registered barely a flicker. They stood side by side in the chamber. They were a fascinating breed. Priest, jailer and executioner. Tsardon with a link to those who had passed from life to death that could neither be denied, nor understood. Gorian was still trying to fathom it. They had energies that no other living person bar an Ascendant exhibited but like passive talents, they used those energies without comprehension.

'Then he must be rescued,' said one, filed front teeth giving a whistle to his words.

'He knows what he must do, Lord Runok.' Runok was a man barely able to string a sentence together. One for whom the tattoo had become more than a badge; it was an obsession. 'He will speak and then he will listen and I will hear.'

'As you wish, my Master.'

Gorian smiled. 'Indeed.'

'You spoke of harvesting dead undamaged,' said the other, Lord Tydiol. 'I do not see how it can be achieved.'

'The edge of a blade or the bite of a rat are only two ways to kill a man. The earth holds many secrets. Tell me. To whom do you pledge your loyalty?'

'To he who commands the dead,' said Tydiol immediately.

'The dead do not answer back. The dead do not question authority and tactics,' said Gorian. 'And soon you will have your reward for your loyalty.'

The two Dead Lords bowed. 'We await your command.' 'A word of advice before you go,' said Gorian. 'Stay off the alcohol tonight. It'll be a little sharp.'

'You are not to blame,' said Dahnishev, his hand on Roberto's shoulder.

Roberto tensed at the touch, hunched and turned away from Adranis for a moment. Dahnishev's hawk-like face, getting old now, filled his vision. Sympathy and strength radiated from it.

'Do you think I can really believe that?' Roberto felt the darkness threaten to swamp him again. 'Can I say that to my mother if he dies?'

'It's the truth, pure and simple. He's a cavalryman and this is a war. He has been struck down trying to save others in his legion. He's a hero and critically, he isn't dead.'

'Not yet,' said Roberto, turning back to his brother.

Adranis was lying on his front with his head turned to the right facing into the surgeon's tent. It was in the lee of the crag below which the remnants of the Bear Claws were spread thinly across the tree-covered ground.

What else they had given up in terms of spirit and will was yet to be seen. The camp was seething with unhappiness at Roberto's actions earlier in the morning. Julius Barias was doing everything he could to stoke the ugly mood and Nunan was finding it difficult to force his legion to make the best of the position they had.

The danger of another Ascendant-fuelled hurricane was real and it had meant the army was not in legion order but dug in and hidden in pockets scattered over a three hundred yard front, a wide arc with flanks guarded by the crag at their backs. The triage site was well-defended and behind it, a secure pathway was being constructed with stake and rope up through the crags. Evacuation would begin as soon as was possible.

Nunan's pressure for high activity had done a great deal to defuse tensions following the use of the naphtha but as midday became mid-afternoon, minds were beginning to turn. The muttering had begun and Roberto felt he was better off out of sight. At least the men around him right now would not judge him too harshly.

'And he won't die if I can help it,' said Dahnishev. 'But don't tell me to earn my reputation, it'll just make me angry.'

Roberto didn't think even the miracle-worker could save Adranis. The dead blade had bitten deep into his lower back. The muscle bands had stopped his intestines spilling out and killing him then and there but the damage was severe. Dahnishev had stitched up what he could but there was internal bleeding he was struggling to stop and if he reopened the wound he risked new infection. Below the bandages, the wound was red and angry. Adranis was running a fever, forcing Dahnishev to give him bigger and bigger doses of white mandrake to still him.

Roberto squeezed out the cold cloth and wiped his brother's face again.

‘I
'm here, Adranis. And I will never leave your side. Come back to me, little brother. Stand with me and save the Conquord for our mother.'

Dahnishev knelt by the cot and took the cloth from Roberto's hands.

'How much rest have you had?'

‘I
don't need it. Not much. I can't,' said Roberto.

'Not good enough. You won't help him by making yourself ill. I'm your doctor and I'm telling you to get some. You've been haunting
my
workspace.' 'I can't leave him.'

'Yes you can. Get outside, go and speak to Nunan and give him a hand up. He needs your help to get us out of this mess. Then go to sleep. If I see you back in here before nightfall, you'll be getting the white mandrake too. Do I make myself clear?' Dahnishev raised a hand. 'Uh-uh. Can't pull rank on me, Roberto. You're a visiting ambassador, technically. And I'm head surgeon for the Bear Claws. Do what I say or I'll have you restrained.'

Roberto sagged. 'You would, wouldn't you?'

'You are one of my oldest friends, Del Aglios. I will not stand by and let you harm yourself.'

Roberto held up his hands and dragged himself to his feet. He felt so weary. Even turning his head felt like he was wearing weights around his neck. His legs ached, his arms and hands shook and he felt sick.

'If anything changes, if he's dying. You will find me.' 'Roberto,' said Dahnishev sharply. 'This is me you're talking to. Trust me, all right?' 'All right. Sorry.'

'So you should be,' said Dahnishev. He put an arm around Roberto's shoulders. 'I will do everything in my considerable power to keep this great man alive.'

'Funny thing,' said Roberto, though he had never felt less like laughing. 'I ran up here, carrying him and cursing the Ascendants. But we could do with Ossacer right now, couldn't we?'

'That we could. But we have to get out of here first.'

'And if we do, can he travel?'

Dahnishev sighed. 'I can't lie to you, Roberto. For him and every injured man, us leaving here presents great risk. There'll be no wagons on top of the crag so we'll have to stretcher him. We're ready to go if it comes to it but some of those lying here and in the other tents won't make it if we do. Pray Adranis isn't one of them.'