A Shout for the Dead (71 page)

'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?'

'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.

And tradition dictated that the appointment would be made by the incumbent Advocate.

'My Speakers, your grief honours your Chancellor as it honours the Order of Omniscient. Felice Koroyan is a loss to us all.'

Herine had chosen a lull in the weeping to make herself heard. Their entourages retreated and the three Speakers straightened. Smoothing robes and dabbing puffy eyes, they approached the step. None of them was particularly tall and each was forced to angle his face to see the Advocate. Vasselis suppressed a chuckle. She had set her back to the sun too. She never missed a trick.

'My Advocate,' said the Speaker of Winds, a narrow-faced, narrow-minded old man. His voice was clogged from his outpouring of emotion. 'Our beloved Chancellor is dead. Nothing can change that.'

'Well now, that's an interesting debate, isn't it?' said Herine. 'Given what is on our borders.'

Vasselis stiffened but Winds ignored her.

'Nothing can change that. Our only succour is that she goes to the embrace of the Omniscient, there to feel His glory for eternity. But we must put aside our personal grief. The faithful need answers.'

'And is that why you brought so many of them with you today?' asked Herine. 'Winds, I am happy to entertain you and your colleagues at any time but I will not submit to the pressure of the mob. We will talk but first you must disperse your crowd.'

'They are here of their own free will,' said the Speaker of the Earth, rounder and shorter than Winds, but possessed of a sharp mind. Vasselis once thought he would make a fine Chancellor. 'We guide, we do not coerce.'

'Oh, come on, Earth. Every House of Masks must be shuttered and dark. Every Armour of God barrack bunk must be empty. Guidance with an iron hand pointing the way.'

'Their Chancellor has been murdered,' said Earth. 'They will not disperse until the guilty are brought before the court, tried and sentenced.'

'So we have a problem,' said Herine. 'The Chancellor was not murdered. She was the victim of a tragic accident, nothing more.'

Winds scoffed. 'Accident. She came here in full health to do the work of the Omniscient. The Ascendancy finally revealed itself for the abomination we always knew it was. She is arrested and while in your custody, she has an
accident}
None but an imbecile would believe such lies. It is clear that she has been killed by one or all of your Ascendants. It is them you must arrest. They have blood on their hands. We demand their immediate restraint.'

Herine laid a hand on Hesther's arm to stop her response. She walked off the step and stood toe-to-toe with Winds.

'Since you are unaware of the law, I will enlighten you.' Herine's voice was quiet and measured. Vasselis shivered and he wasn't even the target,
‘I
can do that because I make the laws. To arrest, I need suspicion. And there is no suspicion. No Ascendant is to blame.

if you want me to demonstrate suspicion, evidence and guilt, I will take you on a tour of the Academy where the blood still stains the rugs and whose stench still haunts the air.
I
will show you children whose beds are wet every night because of the nightmares they will suffer all their lives. I will bring before you fifty citizens who could point at the person responsible for the only murders to have occurred on the Hill in fifteen years. And shall I tell you a secret?'

Herine put her mouth to Winds' ear and spoke in a stage whisper. 'She's lying right behind you.'

Winds started and his face reddened. Beside him, both Earth and Oceans gasped. All three began to protest, their voices loud and brackish. Herine stepped back and spoke again and her voice demanded their immediate silence.

'And finally, I will take you to the cells where your Armour of God thugs await their trial for complicity. All have confessed. And if I have to, I will have them repeat those confessions in public. Is that really what you want?'

'Lies,' hissed Winds. 'Terror will gain you any compliance you demand.'

'Well, you should know,' said Hesther.

'Do not talk to me,' spat Winds. 'Vermin of the Ascendancy.'

'Silence!' Herine's body had tensed. 'I will say this to the three of you. You seek to unsettle me and you are not good enough. Neither was Felice Koroyan. There will be no immediate appointment of Chancellor. None of you has yet demonstrated worth.

'Estorr and the Conquord does not have the time nor the patience for conflict between us. Take your Chancellor. Give her the burial you feel she deserves. No one from the Hill will be attending. You are fortunate we are not giving her to you in an urn.

'And one final thing. I know what you have been doing in my capital city. Ascendancy sympathisers beaten, tortured, murdered. I have some of the survivors here. That will stop. We are at war and whether you believe it or not, the only certain weapon we have is the Ascendancy and those within it who are utterly dedicated to saving the Conquord and your worthless skins. I need my citizens working together. I need their eyes to be looking out for enemies and their hands doing the work their Conquord demands. If you do not disperse your mob, I will use mine to disperse it for you.'

Herine smiled sweetly. 'Am I clear?'

General Davarov of the Atreskan legions had gathered three legions to him by the time he reached the major fishing port of Tharuby on the northern coast of the Tirronean Sea. It was a better return than he dared hope, following the debacle on the Tsardon border. Almost twelve thousand infantry, cavalry and significant artillery.

The latter he had sent on ahead. Some he had managed to put on ships for transport to the Gaws. Infantry went on in support, cavalry covered the ground north, south and north-west. Every day they brought back more and more worrying reports. The dead were being gathered from a widening arc. But at least they marched in their armies. There was no such thing as a dead scout nor dead cavalry rider.

It was small comfort.

Atreska was a country in chaos. Davarov's orders not to attack the dead or the Tsardon had been largely adhered to but it had led to a flood of refugees
as w
ell as soldiers heading west to Neratharn. Messengers had been sent there to try and give some advance warning for the ground to be prepared but it was going to be very difficult.

On leaving Tharuby, Davarov would split his legions, staggering their journeys north and west to try and maintain supply. The fishing port itself was heaving at the seams and his arrival had provoked panic, not calm. He would be advising evacuation but not necessarily to Neratharn.

One thing he could be glad about was his decision to bring civil administrators with him on his journey. Even so, the situation was terribly confused. He was sitting in the basilica with Cartoganev, the praetor of Tharuby and the three legates he had borrowed from Haroq City.

'At the moment we have two principal forces. The Tsardon-backed
force about five days behind us and fifty miles north of us. And we
have the new force heading north, from
Gestern by the livery that has
been identified.'

Cartoganev placed markers on a map. Davarov had given him the task of gathering information on friend and foe alike. His cavalry was stretched and tired but still took to the roads every day on relay-messaging and reconnaissance missions. It had left Davarov himself free to try and marshal the mass of refugees that trailed the army and to whom he felt personal responsibility. Free to search for fighting tactics that might be effective. He had come up with a few but the most effective were also the most unpalatable.

'How far back is the second force?' he asked.

Cartoganev placed a marker on the map. Davarov hissed air between his teeth.

'They don't pause,' said Cartoganev. 'They march night and day.