A Shout for the Dead (85 page)

Marcus Gesteris nodded at the carriage behind which they rode. 'You know the thing that really lifts my heart in all this? Tuline has seen the love that the citizens had for her mother. Her last days were dark but Herine was a magnificent ruler. Their lives have been enriched through her Advocacy and they remembered that at the end.'

Vasselis nodded, it should tell us a lot. That the will of the people isn't represented purely by the Order.'

'But two legions of the Armour are very persuasive.'

'They have always known how to still dissenting voices.'

The carriage, covered and curtained to hide Tuline's tears, rattled under the Victory Gates. The sun beamed upon the palace but it could not disguise the fact that the city, aflame only five days ago, was hollow, empty and heartbroken. When he examined his mind, Vasselis was not surprised at the reaction but his relief had hidden that from him.

The fury of the citizenry had melted away, swept aside by a tide of shock and grief. Only a day after Herine's death, the siege had been lifted and the Council of Speakers had sat down with Vasselis and Tuline to discuss arrangements for an interment befitting the Advocate of the Estorean Conquord and the appointed representative of the Omniscient on earth.

The cynical side of Vasselis suggested to him that this was merely a ploy, that the Order was only doing as it did so well and reading the mood of the people, using it to increase their trust. They would find out if that was true in the coming days. But the spectre of an ignominious end to the rule of Herine Del Aglios had been avoided and for that, the Order was to be commended.

Vasselis and Gesteris rode through the gates and into the courtyard. Stable boys ran to them to take the horses' reins and help the men dismount. The carriage had moved on to the steps of the palace. Vasselis saw Tuline descend the steps and hurry inside, out of sight.

'You know we should flag the news,' said Gesteris. 'The beacons should all be black-smoked.'

'I can't do that,' said Vasselis. 'We have to maintain the illusion of cohesion here. Think of the effect announcing the death of the Advocate would have on already scared forces out there. When we hear of victory or otherwise at Neratharn, then we will black-smoke.'

'And what about Roberto? That man is the Advocate but he does not know it.'

'Better he doesn't. Enough on his shoulders already.' 'I'm not sure he would see it that way.'

'I can't help that, Marcus. I have to do what I think is right. Roberto will understand.'

Gesteris turned at the sound of another carriage trundling over the cobbles into the courtyard. Vasselis looked past his shoulder. The sigils of the Omniscient adorned it. Each panel was painted in the bright colours of the elements.

'They didn't waste much time,' said Gesteris.

'Want a small wager on what they will want to discuss?'

Gesteris chuckled and the pair of them moved to greet the Council as they descended the carriage step.

'It's not much of a wager if we both pick the same winner,' he said.

Vasselis drew in breath and stamped a welcoming expression on to his face. The courtyard was filling with infantry. A detachment of cavalry cantered under the grand arch. He noted that the Armour of God had remained without.

'My lords of the Council of Speakers, welcome,' he said. 'And I feel I speak for all here on the Hill and throughout the City and indeed the wider Conquord when I commend you for an interment that was honest, sympathetic, reverent and altogether fitting. It warms my heart and I thank you.'

Beside him, Gesteris was nodding his approval. Winds inclined his head in acknowledgement.

'The Omniscient will make His judgement. For our faithful, the crimes of the Advocate were far outweighed by her achievements. As ministers of the Order, we can but reflect how the people feel.'

'And what about your personal views?' asked Gesteris gruffly.

Earth, Oceans and Fire clustered behind Winds, who continued.

'The Advocate was destroyed by guilt. And her demise, though surprising in its manner, was an inevitable consequence of her actions. However, there is a cold wind now at the heights of power where once there was a consistent barrier. And the architects of the malaise gripping this City are still at large.'

Vasselis felt his mood cool and hope begin to shred.

'Come,' he said. 'Sit with us and talk. The Advocate has opened the door on possibility. Let us not fall back into old animosity.'

Winds smiled rather sadly and shook his head.

'There is no need, Marshal Vasselis. The head of the beast is taken. The body must now die. We will take the Ascendants with us now and should you refuse, we will be sending the Armour of God to collect them and this time there will be no siege.'

'You would attack the palace?' asked Vasselis, unable to believe what he had just heard. 'You would drag the citizens, your faithful, into pointless conflict, nay dangerous conflict. I will state one more time, we are under threat of invasion. We must not waste lives. The Armour of God must defend the city. The citizens must leave.'

Winds scoffed and Vasselis stiffened. Gesteris growled and bunched his fists at his side.

'There is no invasion. There is no threat. There is only denial of evil. And your repetitive demands are wearing on our nerves.'

Across the city the tenor of the horns and bells changed. Harsh, fast, repetitive tones, echoing across the rooftops. Winds gaped and looked into the sky as if challenging more lies.

'No invasion?' said Gesteris, having to shout as the clamour gained in volume, filling the air. He stepped into Winds and grabbed the collars of his cloak. 'Does that sound like peace to you?'

Winds was gaping. 'It can't be. It was lies.' . Vasselis stepped between them, pushed Gesteris gently away.

'No, Winds, it wasn't. And your refusal to believe has cost the Advocate her mind and then her life. It has torn this city apart and that is the last thing we could afford. Now I want to see Horst Vennegoor in front of me inside the hour. Because, whatever you

believe, the dead really are coming. And it sounds to me as though the Ocetanas might not be able to stop them. And don't forget to apologise to every citizen you see on your way. Seems to me you might just have killed them all.'

Chapter Fifty-Nine

859th cycle of God, 10th day of Genasfall

'Pump bellows.'

The
Ocetarus
rowed alongside the enemy vessel. The drum beat out a murderous rhythm. Below decks, the oarsmen sang to keep themselves focused. They could not afford to drop the pace now. Iliev looked up at the mast. The sail was furled against it but the pennant was flying straight back along the vessel, pointing at the stern.

'Fire!' he ordered.

Along the deck of the enemy ship, Tsardon sailors lined the rail, firing bows across the short space. They rattled off the shields set to defend the bellows and pipes on the
Ocetarus's
stern. Iliev's skipper twitched his hand on the tiller, watching for movements to cause collision.

The jet of naphtha was ignited. A spear of flame roared out from the stern of the Conquord flagship and played from stern to bow of the Tsardon trireme as they passed.

'Starboard heave,' ordered Iliev.

The skipper pulled hard on the tiller, veering away from the enemy. Tsardon sailors were aflame. Fires engulfed the entire starboard side. There was chaos on the oar deck. Naphtha fed along oars. There was a clashing and the ship slewed to port. Iliev could hear screams. The bellows could project the naphtha almost forty feet. He wished they could hit mast and sail but this would do.

Panic had taken a hold. He could hear the strange keening sound, the wailing of the dead crammed where they were in the hold. It was a hideous sound and Iliev regretted the fate of every innocent man who had to suffer to keep the Conquord safe. The enemy vessel was in trouble. And water only fed the flames. The naphtha ate deep into the timbers and burned very hot. The fire reached high into the sky and fizzed on the waterline.

Iliev said a prayer for all those being taken to the bosom of Ocetarus. But it was nowhere near enough. He turned forward. Ocenii squadron corsairs streaked across the water from twenty base triremes. Squad seven was on the water, tracking them and waiting for Iliev to join them. He watched squad fourteen strike low in the bow of a trireme a few hundred yards away to starboard. The Tsardon vessel shuddered across the water. Moments later, another squad impacted its stern.

Yet they were the few against the many. Iliev cursed again. They had been looking in the wrong place. He'd known they would need a fleet to bring the dead across the Tirronean. The Tsardon would have to sail around the southern tip of Gestern to do it. Should have.

But they had been out-thought. Gestern was full of the willing muscle of the dead. There was no resistance in that fair country. So the Tsardon had not risked encountering the Ocetanas and the Ocenii where the Gildenean Sea met the Tirronean. They had dismantled their ships and marched them across Gestern. An extraordinary feat. Possible only because of the sheer numbers of dead the enemy used as passive muscle. And by the time the truth was known, two hundred ships were coming from the length of the western seaboard. Too many for the Ocetanas to take.

Whatever they did, some of the dead would make landfall.

Iliev could see the white walls and red slates of Estorr in the far distance. Two days before they knew the horror of the dead. The only hope that the thirty vessels Iliev had gathered to him had was that they had sunk those containing the Gor-Karkulas. It was a game of chance and it was not one they would know they had won until the Tsardon turned back or the ships landed to disgorge nothing.

Tsardon sails stained the horizon and blotted out the beauty of the ocean. In amongst them, Conquord vessels taken from Kester Isle. The reserve Iliev had gone to get but which he had found already taken. The enemy had kept them hidden until now though he didn't know how.

Iliev wracked his brains, thinking of what he might have done differently. But there was nothing. No preparation he could have made would have eased the burden on his heart now. He had flagged the invasion warning and seen the response communicated back by the fleet. At least Estorr knew they were coming.

'Skipper!'

Iliev turned and looked down over the port bow. Kashilli was standing at the tiller on his corsair. 'Kashilli, how goes it out there?'

'Stop nagging yourself like a bad wife and come and see. Enemy to be sunk. Hammers to be swung.'

Iliev nodded. 'Back off to the stern. I'll join you.'

Iliev trotted back down the ship, pausing at the skipper. 'Keep tracking them down. Keep those bellows going. Any dead that falls is a good dead.'

'Yes, Admiral.'

Iliev smiled. 'We can only do what Ocetarus allows us, Captain. The call is out and we have answered. Remember that. Fight. And watch for the Ocenii. Strike centre. We'll move out a half mile.'

Iliev stepped on to the stern rail and dived into the sea, feeling the cold embrace him and the hand of Ocetarus caress him. He commended his body to his god and broke surface. Kashilli's shout turned him in the right direction and he struck out. There was damage to be done.

‘I
can feel her,' said Kessian. 'She's practically just around the corner. Why can't we go to her?'

'Quiet!' Gorian's shout only worsened his headache and exacerbated his fatigue. 'Stop your whining. Don't you realise we are not ready?'

'Why not? Everyone is there. Arducius and Ossacer are there too. Even that man we were looking for before.'

'Yes, and none of them will understand what I have become. Or what you have become. You know they all hate me.'

‘I
could go to her. Bring her to you and we can be together just like you said.'

'No.'

Gorian groped for the right words but they would not come. The concentration of energies was flooding his mind. The sheer density of it threatened to swamp even him. Everything bar keeping his people whole and walking forwards seemed such a massive effort.

The proximity of the Gor-Karkulas and his second army marching with Khuran had reached a critical point and the well of power he had so close to him was vast. It told him his tactics were right. Once the two armies were joined, the forces he could bring to bear through four of the Karkulas would be simply unstoppable. The energies beneath the earth thrummed as he sucked on their life forces.

Above, where the living still roamed, hoping to defeat him, some would sense it. And they would hate it. Kessian had sampled this bleeding into the complex map Gorian had created, an unconscious attempt to right what they felt was wrong. That was how Kessian knew so much about who was on the wall, damn him.