A Shout for the Dead

by James Barclay

  The centurion was right. It didn't make any sense. Adranis tried not to think too hard about it. The Tsardon were beyond a severely weakened border fort. If they had escaped the storm, they might well seize the opportunity. Security was everything. Adranis looked back over the bridge. There was no light at all in the fort. No braziers on the artillery platform, no lanterns in the rear gatehouse.

  'They can't all be dead,' he said. 'Can they?'

  Adranis heard a creaking sound, joined by others. Artillery windlasses being winched on the border fort platform. He didn't know whether to be relieved or scared. He had to pray it was no more than caution because if the Tsardon chose to attack, they would find the defence not up to the challenge. He, Kell, Nunan and Roberto needed time.

  The rear gates were opening onto the bridge. Adranis froze. Within the growing clamour that was overtaking the castle on which he stood, he felt within a well of silence. The echoes of the wind blew around his ears and his skin raged with the sand and grit lodged there. He felt vulnerable but with no will to move a muscle. The gap between the doors yawned wide. People spilled out onto the bridge. His people, Conquord people. Perhaps thirty, running headlong across the span. Looking behind them, shouting for the castle gates to be opened. Consumed with fear.

  Adranis waited just for a moment, until the Tsardon emerged after them. He had to be sure. But they didn't come. Instead, behind came more in the livery of the Conquord and the Gosland border militia. Not running, walking. Adranis frowned. Something wasn't right about them and the way they moved. It was a little slow and clumsy, even. He looked back to those rushing towards the castle, approaching the gates, their voices loud and panicked.

  He made to speak to the centurion but the onager arms at the fort thudded into their rests. Stones whined into the sky. For a heartbeat, he watched them.

  'God-embrace-me,' he breathed, then shouted. 'Cover!'

  For the second time, he grabbed the centurion, this time diving through the balcony doorway and tumbling onto the stairs. The stones smashed into the castle. Lumps of masonry and rubble fell, pounding into the balcony and sending clouds of dust into his face. The centurion pushed himself upright, wanting to get back outside. Adranis's voice stopped him.

  'You can't help them now. We have to build a defence. Find the castle captain.'

  The centurion nodded, confused and scared. 'Centurion. Calm. Do the simple thing. Be right.' 'Yes, sir.' He ran away down the stairs.

  Adranis looked after him. From below, orders were bringing some semblance of calm to the castle. He heard the shout for the gates to be opened and, more distantly, horns calling the legion from their beds. They were away two hundred yards and more, camped on open ground. It would be a long and cruel pause before they could be brought to order and marched to the defence.

  Adranis knew what he had to do. He took the stairs three at a time, heading for his room. He had to get his armour and helmet on; and he had to find Roberto.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  859th cycle of God, 35th day of Genasrise

  Roberto's aide was chasing after him with breastplate and helmet. Roberto clattered into Kell's and Nunan's quarters to find them already dressed and strapping on their blades. Horns were blowing in the legion camp. The two generals were grim and angry.

  'Dammit but we're in the wrong place,' said Nunan.

  'We got complacent,' said Kell.

  'It doesn't matter now.' Roberto came to a standstill and let his aide place his breastplate over his head and begin to strap it up. The walls of the castle shuddered under further impacts. Screams echoed in the corridors. 'Bring them up to the clear ground behind the castle. Cavalry free on the flanks. Don't come in, keep a line. Remember you are a legion and bred to fight in open spaces. We can't afford to lose hundreds in hand-to-hand in here. I'd rather lose the castle and hold them later.'

  'Yes, General.'

  'Dina, Pavel. You're in charge. Don't look to me. Make the decisions.' They nodded. 'Good. Go.'

  Roberto turned to his aide and held out his hands. His gloves were thrust on. He took his helmet and placed it on his head, feeling the comforting weight and a rush of memories. His heart beat faster, his body charged. Now he had to face a problem that should have been dealt with a decade ago. He'd smelled this air before and he knew exactly what it meant. The Conquord was about to pay for the mercy of the past.

  'Get yourself safe, Herides,' he said to his aide. 'Go to the camp.' 'My place is here by your side,' said Herides. 'It always has been.' Roberto placed a hand on his shoulder. The man who stared back at him still had the eyes of the one he had taken into his service on the Tsardon battlefield all those years ago. But illness had robbed him of strength and brought a tremble to his limbs.

  'I have been a long time out of this armour but I still retain legion papers. You do not and should not place yourself in the path of danger. It is your mind, I need, my friend. Keep it safe.'

  'My General,' said Herides.

  'Never could call me anything else could you?'

  'No other name seemed to fit.'

  Roberto headed for the door. Men and women were running past in the direction of the bridge gates. Armour rattled and spears glinted in the light from lanterns being relit across the castle. Herides went right, Roberto left. Coming down the stairs from the balcony, was Adranis. Relief was keen. The two men shared a brief embrace.

  'You need your armour,' said Roberto.

  'I know. Listen, Roberto. These aren't Tsardon stones hitting us. They've turned the catapults on the platform. We have to assume the Tsardon have taken the fort. Survivors are at our gates and more are behind them but ...'

  Roberto looked into his brother's eyes and saw confusion.

  'What is it? Come on, anything.'

  'The ones following on. Something's wrong with them.' 'And the storm that hit us,' said Roberto, beginning to add it all together. 'It didn't feel natural, did it?' Adranis shook his head. 'No.'

  'That's because it wasn't. Get yourself dressed. Meet me back at the gates. We're going to need your courage, brother. The rogue Ascendant has come to call.'

  Roberto ran towards the gates. One had been opened to admit the terrified militia. The doorway was crowded with soldiers. Roberto shouted people from his path and elbowed his way to gain a view. He tried to ignore the words he was hearing and the anxiety that they fed into those guarding the gates.

  'Hold all of them, Captain,' he said to the castle's commander. 'We need statements from each and every one.'

  'Yes, sir,' she said. 'You heard the ambassador. Take them to the mess hall. Warm drinks and whatever you can find to feed them.'

  'The Bear Claws are coming,' said Roberto. 'Let's not think this fight lost.'

  Further stones tumbled into the castle structure. Dust and plaster fell.

  'This place will stand that all night,' called the captain. 'Hold your stations. Archers to the ramparts.'

  Roberto looked out of the open gate. Conquord citizens were moving across the bridge. Behind them, in the fort now blazing with new light, a Tsardon flag was unfurled on the artillery platform. Enemy forces massed in the gateway and crowded every window. At first he thought they were cheering but they weren't.

  'Close the gate,' he said. 'Do it now.'

  'But sir, we need our people inside,' said the captain. 'There's no danger.'

  'No? Did you not hear what those who ran in were saying?' 'But you can't believe that. It's a trick.'

  'All I know is that I can see people stuck with arrows walking this way. People who should be dead.' He raised his voice. 'Close the gate.'

  Soldiers were looking at the captain and back to him.

  'Those are our people.' There was pleading in the captain's voice.

  Roberto took another look. Throats were pierced, armour damaged. One had lost a hand, another had a tear across his chest through which his ribs were clearly visible.

  'Trust me,' he said quietly. 'And don't make me pull rank. Those are no
t our people. Not any more. Close the gate.'

  The captain looked to her soldiers and nodded. 'Do it,' she said, turning back to Roberto immediately. 'What now, General? We've closed the gates on people we could have saved. You know something. We need to know it too, sir.'

  There were better than fifty people around the gates as they clanged shut and bolts were thrown. Every one of them looked at Roberto, anger in their faces. The gates were in the centre of a broad wall and faced into a staging area big enough to hold two thousand legionaries or five hundred cavalry. It was filling up quickly. Stairs led off left up to the gatehouse balcony and right to the artillery platforms. Other doors and stairways studded the walls all the way around, giving access to the rest of the castle.

  'Let's form our defence here first,' said Roberto. 'Sarissas and archers in ranks facing the door. Swords to the flanks, ready to use as shock force.'

  The captain didn't move for a moment.

  'Captain, the Tsardon are coming. We have to hold here until the legion arrives. The stones will soon be hitting those gates and they will not hold forever whatever the strength of the walls. And I fear the Tsardon have more than just artillery backing their assault. Form up and I will speak to you all.'

  The captain nodded and began to issue orders. She knew him. They all did. The Conquord's most successful living general. He was relying on that reputation now, more than he ever had. He knew what they were thinking. That he'd left good citizens outside to die. How could he tell them something he dare not believe himself? He needed evidence, testimony. Something to back up the foggy memory of a conversation he'd had with Paul Jhered years ago. The mess hall had plenty of that.

  'Thank you, Captain,' he said. 'Your trust will not be wasted. I am sorry to say I can promise you that.'

  Roberto took her salute and made for the mess hall. Halfway across the staging area, he saw Adranis emerge from their room, resplendent in his cavalry armour, cloak and helmet.

  'Over here,' he said. 'Come and help me talk to the runners you saw. We need quick information.'

  ‘I should get back to the Claws,' said Adranis.

  'They'll need to hear it too. Best it comes from one of their own.'

  'Hear what?'

  'Just bear with me,' said Roberto.

  Adranis looked beyond Roberto and straightened in complete surprise. His mouth opened slightly. Simultaneously, silence fell across the yard. Roberto spun on his heel. Walking down both sets of stairs, from the balcony, gate ramparts and artillery platform, were men and women bearing gladiuses and knives. It was a determined walk.

  On the ground, people backed away. He heard blades drawn and the whisper of voices.

  'That man was dead,' said Adranis. ‘I saw him myself. Roberto, look at him.'

  Roberto looked. Skull bone showed through his torn flesh and blood had dribbled from his eyes to draw lines down his cheeks. Walking beside him, another man, his breastplate drenched in blood and across his throat, a jagged tear. A third came behind them, one hand clamped to his gut. Even as they watched, the entrails slipped from between his fingers and spilled on to the ground, hanging and steaming in the cold air. The man simply removed his hand and carried on walking. But he tripped on his own innards and tumbled sideways.

  From the platform and towers, came ten more and shadows above told of others. Roberto could all but taste the fear that swept across the living as they beheld their first, disbelieving sight of the dead. They held ranks but only just, backing away further, leaving an open space at the base of each stairway.

  The captain held out her hands for calm. She was standing ahead of her soldiers and in front of the gates. She looked left and right, watching the dead advance. She gasped and moved towards the left-hand stair. The murmuring of the living became louder. Someone urged her to get back. Others were pointing, calling out names. Roberto put out a hand to stop Adranis coming past him.

  'Captain,' he said, voice bouncing from the vaulted roof. 'Keep your distance.'

  'It's Veralius,' she said, pointing to one of the torn, scarred men moving towards her. 'We have to help them. Look at them.'

  'It was Veralius,' said Roberto. 'It isn't now. Just a shell. He should be with Gpd and he is not.'

  The dead were on the lower steps. The mass of the defenders were still backing off, leaving open ground of a good ten yards. Adranis and Roberto walked around the side, giving them a view across the space. The captain stood her ground. Roberto could see the fear in her eyes. Her sword was drawn and she continually retightened her grip. She was alone and the dead were moving towards her.

  'Veralius,' she said. 'It's me, Jorgia.'

  There was no flicker of recognition.

  'Back off, Captain,' said Roberto. 'This won't work.'

  'Alive or dead, it's still him,' said the captain. 'Veralius, come on. Say something.'

  Veralius had a long, savage cut down the left hand side of his head. It had been a killing blow, no question. It had smashed his jaw across his face and his neck was twisted to the side. It should be pumping blood but only the tiniest dribble could be seen. He was slightly ahead of the others but all of them, from both sets of steps, were moving towards the captain. Behind her, her soldiers were urging her to drop back. .

  'Something wrong with him, Captain. Stand with us.'

  'We can take them if we have to.'

  'Veralius,' she said again. 'Please. Remember me.'

  'He can't,' said Roberto. 'He's dead. Drop back.'

  'And do what?' she snapped. 'He's dead already? How do we kill him again? I don't even know what I'm trying to say. How can he be dead?' The last a hoarse whisper.

  'Taking their legs off will stop them advancing. And taking their hands off will stop them attacking,' said Adranis. 'They'll never get past a line of sarissas, Captain. Do what the general says.'

  'And that's an order,' said Roberto.

  The captain looked at them briefly and then back at Vetalius. He was only four paces from her, the others right behind him. Blades were raised.

  'Captain!' shouted Roberto. 'Back off now.'

  'Veralius,' bawled the captain into the face of the dead man. 'Veralius.'

  There it was. A pause in his relentless advance. A twitch in the sword arm. His expression didn't change but he didn't strike. He rocked slightly in his stance. The captain smiled.

  'Veralius,' she said. 'It's all right.'

  Four blades crashed into her unprotected sides, carving deep into her back, neck and arms. She went down in a fountain of blood. Her soldiers roared fury.

  'Sarissas!' shouted someone. 'Two to a blade.'

  The long weapons were levelled, three ranks deep.

  'Archers, fire at will.'

  Arrows spat across the short space from those who could get a shot. Forty or fifty striking at the dead who were already on the move. There were only twenty of them but they moved with no fear, just hideous purpose. There was no doubt what they would do when they reached the defensive lines. But they weren't going to get that far.

  Shafts thudded home. The dead were pitched from their feet, driven backwards or down to their knees. In moments, they were all preparing to move forward again, spreading more anxiety, more fear.

  'Sarissas. Let's pin these bastards to the gates.'

  The sarissa men surged forwards, battle cries ripping from their lips. The dead raised no defence. The long, counter-balanced blades found their targets. The team pairs pushed on, angling the blades up, lifting dead from the ground and rushing the yardage to the gates where they pinioned them to the timbers. The cheers were muted. Some had been carried up but dropped. Still they moved. Goslander militia fell on them, hacking and slashing.

  Roberto rubbed his gloved hands over his face. More dead were appearing on the stairs. Those impaled on blades still moved, still betrayed no emotion, pain or fear.

  ‘I want this castle swept for them,' ordered Roberto. 'Dismember, decapitate. Stop them anyway you can. We will send them back to the embrace o
f God.'

  While centurions sent teams up the stairways, Roberto turned to Adranis. His brother wore his shock in the brightness of his eyes.

  'Get back to the legion. Tell Kell and Nunan what we're up against. There has to be no confusion, no mercy. These citizens are dead and we must not think of them as the people we once knew.'

  'Easy to say,' said Adranis.

  'We have to stop them and we have to do it now. Here.' 'Who's doing this?'

  Roberto spat on the ground. Around them, violence flared. The dead were being sent back to God. It was not pretty and Roberto was aware it was driven by anger at their captain's murder. When the fury subsided, the fear would return.

  'Gorian.'

  Adranis's frown deepened. 'The Ascendant? Dead, surely.' 'The Sirraneans warned me he was still alive and in Tsard. The evidence suggests they were right. I should never have let him live.' 'Can you be sure it's him?'

  'Who else? Jhered once told me Gorian thought the dead had an energy of their own and it seems he was right.' Roberto shook his head. 'Walking dead, foul-smelling storms carrying dust and death. There's no doubt. Just as there is no doubt that the Tsardon are with him and the Conquord is not ready for another invasion. If we don't hold them here, we have little else to offer.'

  'The Claws won't fail.'

  'I'm counting on that. Go. If we can stop them here, we will. Just be ready unless we can't.' 'Be careful, Roberto.'

  Roberto chuckled. 'That's rich, coming from you.'

  Onager stones rattled into the gatehouse and the timber of the gates themselves, sending the dead pinned there into a hideous jumping dance, like puppets in a cheap show.

  'Let's have them down,' said Roberto. 'Even butchering them is more respectful than this.'

  The carving up of the dead had finished and the reanimated corpses lay still once again. Someone had found an Order reader and body parts were being taken away for proper, decent burial. Blood was across the steps and more teams were heading out to the open spaces of the castle to ensure no more of Gorian's bastard creations were lurking, waiting to strike.