A Shout for the Dead

by James Barclay

  The world slowly swam into view. It revealed a stark picture of the march, most resembling a child's painting. Colours brightly drawn, shaped with hard edges. The Karkulas was sitting in an open cart, facing backwards over open ground. He was unbound, surrounded by Tsardon. He moved his head quickly from side to side, giving Gorian uncomfortable blurring images. He responded, feeding cold through the lines of the earth.

  'I do not need all six of you,' said Gorian. 'Face forward, keep your head still and get me Hasheth.'

  Gorian heard the Karkulas ask for Hasheth to be brought to him.

  He didn't hear the response. The Karkulas turned, making sure to move his head quickly and bounce his body around. Gorian chose to remain silent this time. Ahead of him, the Tsardon army were in a loose marching column. They were travelling across the wide open spaces of Atreska, heading for the border with Neratharn. The dead would be a fair distance in front of the living. The Tsardon warriors were openly hostile to the dead, only Khuran keeping them in check. Two Dead Lords and two Karkulas marshalled the dead in rotation. Hasheth, the preferred, was soon in Gorian's vision, climbing into the front of the ox-cart.

  'My Master,' he said.

  'You still move well?'

  'The King has set a healthy pace,' replied Hasheth. 'And there is still no resistance though we are tracked and observed.' 'And my people?'

  'Well enough. Your efforts maintain them in better condition than those on the snows of Kark but there is attrition. We need to harvest more.'

  Gorian chuckled. 'The Atreskans have done what the Gesterners did not. But I do not see the Neratharnese simply opening their gates, do you?'

  'No, Master,' said Hasheth. 'Your progress is assured?'

  'I have been forced to bring forward the plan but we remain strong and are chasing down the remainder of the opposition. They are broken.'

  He felt Hasheth's hesitation rather than saw it. Nuances were lost in the vision afforded him. 'The prince?'

  'Is content and whole,' said Gorian.

  'I understand. We await your instructions.'

  'No need for anything precipitate before Neratharn. The King and the Tsardon must have their time on the battlefield. A warrior must feel flesh beneath his blade.'

  The soldiers around the wagon grunted approval. Hasheth nodded his head.

  'I hear you,' he said.

  'Good. Relate our success to the King. Assure him of my allegiance. We are unstoppable. I will speak with you again tomorrow.'

  Gorian broke connection. He would have sat up but a wave of tiredness swept over him and his stomach turned over. Gestern would have to wait. He needed to rest.

  The panic had subsided, the running had stopped and a bizarre altered reality had fallen on the survivors of the wave of disease that had consumed so many. Most of the cavalry had survived and the majority of them were in a dense block across the road about a mile from the crag and in clear sight of any enemies coming at them from the castle. Scouts had already been despatched. They would not stop all day and had been tasked to make contact with the force travelling on the slopes high above them that led into the Farian Mountains.

  Kell had remained on the road. Not thirty yards away, the surviving Tsardon were gathered. They were leaderless and confused. Kell knew how they felt. Following the escape, when it became clear that quite suddenly, they were outnumbered and amongst two hundred Conquord horsemen and a similar number of angry legionaries, the Tsardon had grown suspicious.

  There had been scuffles and enemies who had helped each other away were separated and the sides drawn up again. But Kell had no intention whatever of attacking them and she was sure the Tsardon felt the same. She stood by her horse as did the rest of her riders and she waited.

  'No taunts, no breaking of ranks,' she said, voice echoing against the rock to their right as they faced the Tsardon. 'Remember our role is to protect our infantry and non-combatants.'

  Kell turned her head at the sound of a throat being cleared.

  'Yes, Captain?'

  'Fine words,' he said quietly. 'But they won't buy it. Tsardon on our soil. What are you going to do?'

  Kell shook her head. 'Tricky. Can't send them back or they'll only end up dead, we assume. And actually, I'm rather interested to find out what their scouts have to say.'

  'If they choose to tell us.'

  ‘I don't think they'll consider they have a choice.'

  Kell wasn't kept waiting long. She saw Tsardon warriors run back into the midst of their group, two hundred and fifty-odd at a rough count. There was talking that became shouting, finger pointing and pushing and shoving. Eventually, a decision was made and a man separated himself from his comrades and walked towards the Conquord cavalry. Kell gave the reins of her horse to her captain and went out to meet him.

  'Keep watching. If I'm attacked, ride them down.'

  'Yes, General.'

  Kell stopped after a dozen paces and waited for the Tsardon warrior to come to her. He was quite senior by his insignia, probably a prosentor. His armour was scratched from his hurried escape and his expression was uncertain. His face was unshaven, his long hair gathered in a pony tail. He was a big man but he had no confidence in his step.

  'I am Prosentor Ruthrar of the Tsardon kingdom, a commander of the north-eastern armies.' His Estorean was passable. Better than her Tsardon, certainly.

  'I am General Dina Kell, second Estorean, the Bear Claws. And you are on Conquord territory. What is it you want?'

  Kell was aware that not a sound was coming from her people. She could imagine them straining for any hint of what was being discussed.

  'Passage south,' he said. 'In exchange for information.'

  Kell raised her eyebrows. 'Why don't you simply turn round? We will not stop you returning to Tsard.'

  'That is the information.'

  Kell shook her head. 'He's killed everyone, hasn't he? Friend and foe alike.'

  'It seems we are all his foes now.'

  'And you are short on friends. Seems you chose poorly, doesn't it?'

  Kell could find no satisfaction in the turn of events. It could easily make matters worse, not better. And despite the fact the man before her was an enemy, she found she had sympathy for him as a soldier. She had never experienced the cold grip of betrayal and seeing him, she didn't ever want to.

  'We must unite against a common enemy.'

  Her sympathy evaporated. 'You brought him here. You gave him the manpower to make his perverted dreams a reality.'

  The prosentor inclined his head. 'You will have no love for my people. But you were one who helped an injured Tsardon from the road. You do understand.'

  'I understand that no man should suffer the fate of the walking dead. And I do not blame a conscript for the decisions of his superiors. But here I have two hundred and fifty of a nation who we have been fighting for over fifteen years. And you want passage to where?'

  Ruthrar smiled. 'We both have a problem and at heart, they are similar. I want passage to a place where I can contact my king and tell him what has befallen his son and six thousand of his warriors.'

  'Well, that's honest at least,' said Kell. 'And where is your king?'

  'Marching through Atteska.'

  Kell raised her eyebrows. 'You know that for sure? I am aware of a considerable defence on the Atreskan border and significant legion presence. We have only just retaken Atreska. We will not give it back.'

  Ruthrar made to respond and Kell didn't like the expression on his face. It was almost apologetic and it was unsettling. But there were raised voices behind him. He raised his hand, nodded his head and didn't respond to her statement.

  'We must all move. Lord Westfallen's army is close and marching. We will not turn back to them. We do not want to fight you to get away but we will if you force us. Please, General. A stand-off will not help us. Any dead add to the enemy strength.'

  'How far back are they?'

  in your measures, less than half a mile. They are moving slowly
but ...'

  Kell had no choice.

  'Then we go. Can you ride?'

  ‘I am from the southern steppes.'

  'Good. Your warriors will march ahead of my cavalry. You will ride with me. You still have much to tell me. If any of your people break, we will ride them down. You may retain your weapons only because we have no way to carry them and I will leave nothing behind. But you will consider yourselves my prisoners. Is that clear?'

  Ruthrar nodded. 'But some of my people should shadow the enemy.'

  'Not a chance. My riders will do that.'

  ‘I understand.'

  'Then let's move. The dead will not wait.'

  Roberto sat with his head in his hands and listened to the dead march away. The vibration through the ground had been sickening and frightening. He'd had to stop Julius calling out and had quickly moved them to rocky ground overlooking the sluggish river, out of sight of both castle and slope. The once-verdant ground where they'd stopped initially on escaping the dead was rotting. Gorian had used all its life force in creating his disease. Quite the most repellent use of Ascendant power barring raising the dead, and Roberto had seen more than most. He couldn't shake the vision of the writhing in the grave. His brother, tormented in death.

  'What will we do now?' asked Julius.

  It was barely mid-morning and Roberto felt he had already lived a lifetime today. He wanted to sleep but he knew he wouldn't escape the visions there. He wanted to shout his fury and impotence to act. He wanted to dig his brother up and find him whole and alive. And he wanted to punch Speaker Julius Barias so hard that he could never speak again.

  Roberto stared at Julius. The Speaker was sitting slightly below him and gazing into the river. He was streaked with mud and the filth of the rotten hillside and there was a trail of blood coming from a cut on his left shoulder.

  'Why did you do it?'

  'Do what?' Julius turned to him.

  'Drop down like that. Try to save the irredeemable. What possessed you?'

  'A good minister never abandons his faithful,' said Julius. 'No matter the risk. Why did you do what you did?'

  'You know what, I have absolutely no idea. Had I really thought about it, I don't suppose I would have bothered. Oh, sorry, was that not the reaction you were looking for? I suppose I could have said something glib like "a good heir to the Advocate never abandons his Order ministers, whatever the risk" but frankly, in your case that would be a lie.

  'You'll be sitting there thinking me immature and embittered I expect and that's fine by me. I've just lost my brother. I have just seen Pavel Nunan engulfed by a tide of disease, die and then drag himself back to his feet and march away, now my enemy. I've just seen an army of the dead march into my mother's Conquord and I'm stuck with the last person on God's good earth that I would choose to be with in a crisis; a man who wants me tried and burned.

  'You want to know what's next? Well, at nightfall, I'm going to snoop around that castle to see if I can find anything useful. A boat seems the most useful thing. I am then going to make my way as quickly as possible back to Estorr while warning every one I meet about what is coming at them. You can come with me if you can keep up, and if you keep quiet. But if you put my life at risk one more time,

  I will not hesitate to cut you down and leave you to rot, do I make myself clear?

  'You might have enjoyed the protection of Kell and Nunan and the Bear Claws until you jumped in to try and spare the dead but just in case you're in any doubt, Nunan now walks with the dead and Kell's fate is as yet unknown. Out here it's just you and me, and I don't notice a sword at your belt.'

  Julius said nothing and by the look on his face, he wasn't about to.

  'Good,' said Roberto. 'Stay scared and you might just stay alive. Just follow my lead.'

  Julius frowned. 'You're scared too?'

  'Never more so.'

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  859th cycle of God, 37th day of Genasrise

  They had managed to scratch together a few hours of broken sleep, taking it in turns to watch the river and, if they had a mind, the approach to the castle. Roberto watched more than he slept. Adranis wouldn't leave him. He was so close and his smile invaded every dream. And each time Roberto began to return the smile he saw it was fixed to a decapitated head and lying on the blood-stained ground.

  Barias had been plagued by nightmares too, or perhaps he was just wrestling with his conscience in his sleep. Roberto thought several times about leaving him and going on alone, but knew it would be unwise. Two was better than one when you had nothing. No water, no food and precious little in the way of hope. Marooned the wrong side of the invading army.

  Well before dawn, and having observed no light whatever, Roberto and Julius walked along the river's edge to the castle, keeping just above the steep bank. The dank rotten ground masked their footsteps and they skirted along the side of the road, hugging the shadows of castle out-buildings to bring them right to the main rear gates which stood wide open.

  The night was full of sound. The river under the bridge, slapping echoes against the concrete piles. The wind mourning through myriad shattered openings where timbers, glass and coverings had been torn away by the hurricane. The flat smack of a door in its frame. Curious that the place didn't stink of death given what Roberto suspected had happened here. No rot on the stone flags.

  The castle was plainly abandoned but it shouldn't have been. Tsardon should have remained to guard the escape route, man the onagers that stood on the gate fort across the bridge and probably above him on the castle's artillery platform. No supply organisation had been put into place with this perfect building as its administrative hub.

  But then, Gorian was no soldier and it was even more clear, if clarity was needed, that no soldiers were alive to tell him how to go about his invasion. The thought should have brought Roberto some comfort but there was none to be had. Why did he have need of a supply chain when the dead marched on the power of his Work. Puzzling out how might give them the edge they needed to beat him but Roberto needed an Ascendant for that. Meanwhile, anything he could find here would have to do.

  Roberto made to walk inside but felt Barias's hand on his shoulder.

  'You're sure? You don't even have your gladius drawn.'

  'There's no one here, Julius. Just you and me and the scene of a mass murder.'

  'We might find food and drink here, then.'

  'Entirely likely. You coming?'

  Barias nodded and Roberto stepped in through the huge gates. The assembly yard was enfolded in darkness. Roberto kept to the left-hand wall and traced his hand along it until he found a doorway. The wide open space of the yard loomed cold and full of dread memories to his right. As his eyes began adjusting to the dark, he could make out shapes on the ground. Not bodies. Clothing and equipment perhaps.

  Roberto fumbled for the door. It had been his and Adranis's room. There were lantern brackets either side of it and unless they had been moved, a flint, steel and oiled tapers atop a low wooden shelf just inside. He listened for any sounds coming from within before unlatching the door and pushing it inwards. There was a low creak and Roberto shivered in spite of himself. The room was dark. It smelled of recent occupation; ash, soap and sweat.

  Roberto felt to the side of the door, unwilling to go in. The dark inside held a malevolent quality. Gorian had been here, maybe even slept here. Roberto's hand closed on what he was looking for, sitting in a tray.

  'Good,' he said.

  He placed the tray on the ground and quickly sorted out the equipment. Lighting fires in the dark was something he'd learned in the legions and a tiny smile crossed his lips. Like most, he'd cut himself on the flint, scraped skin and managed to burn his fingertips. Not this time. The taper flared very bright in the dark. The lanterns were still hanging on their hooks. He lit them both and handed one to Julius.

  'Well, if there's anyone else here, they'll know where to come, won't they?'

  Roberto raised his
lantern and looked into the assembly yard. As far as the light went, there were pieces of clothing, blankets, sections of armour and backpacks scattered across the floor. There were jugs, plates, goblets and the stains of old food and drink.

  'Hungry, Julius?'

  'Starving.'

  'Well, the kitchens were well stocked when we left and I suspect they still are. Something tells me the dead don't need a great deal in the way of supplies.'

  He raised his eyebrows at Julius, who nodded, gaze flickering over the scene. It was as if they'd just got up and marched away. In a way, of course, they had done just that but not under their own wills. Roberto led the way across the yard. The lantern light illuminated more debris abandoned on the ground. Very little of any use but Roberto looked for a good backpack and blankets that looked in any way clean. He directed Julius to do the same and by the time they'd reached the refectory, Julius held both lanterns and Roberto had an armload of equipment to sift. He dumped it on the end of the first long table. There were three dozen tables, covered in jugs, plates and rough cutlery.

  Roberto wandered over to the serving tables that stood right outside the kitchens, the door to which stood open. Tapped barrels rested in racks and a huge upright water butt on the floor was still half full. There was a goblet on the table, sitting by several stained, empty iron cauldrons. He swept it up and turned the tap on the nearest cask. Dark liquid flowed out. He sniffed it.

  'Hmm. Well, they knew their wine, anyway. This, if I'm not mistaken, is a Dornosean red. Better with water and a little honey in my opinion but right now, it'll be like balm in my throat.'

  He tipped the goblet to Julius who still held both lanterns and raised it to his lips. A movement to his right caught his eye. The man came from the kitchen, shouting. He dived straight across the serving tables, his arms and upper body collided with Roberto, bearing them both to the floor, his legs dragged through the cauldrons, knocking two over and down with a booming clang that reverberated about the walls.