Kashilli did not pause to let the fear grab him. He swung the axe back and forth, each time taking a pace or a half. He turned the blade a quarter, electing to use it as a flat edge, beating a path.
'Get them off our path,' he called. 'Move.'
Dead blades swung at him. He ducked, jerked back. Another nicked the axe shaft. A third clipped the top of his gauntleted hands. Kashilli yelled out. The cut was deep. He gripped harder. Blood pulsed down inside the glove. He struck again. A dead was crushed against the low wall. He could hear his men surging in behind him. The sick crunch of bones being broken. The odd silence as a writhing, grasping dead was thrown out over the rock.
'Keep on coming.' Kashilli spat in their faces. 'Fear the Ocenii.'
Kashilli took another pace. The axe caught a dead under his arm as he readied to swing his own weapon. He careered left. Kashilli paced forwards, kicked out and up, snapping the man's head and sending him teetering on the wall. Behind Kashilli, hands sent the dead back to God.
The big Ocenii spat blood ftom his mouth. It tasted sour. It was cold and thick. Another sweep of his axe. Another. And the way was clear. Below him. More dead grouped to head for the stairs up to the watch tower. Kashilli growled and ran ahead. The Ocenii behind him chanted victory and pushed harder,- opening a gap between them and those dead who pursued them.
'Get fire down those stairs to the gardens. Keep them back.'
Kashilli charged up the stairs. Magnifiers lay on the single table. The stove and brazier sat under canvas. Beneath the small table, on which sat three tin mugs and a water pan, was a wooden chest carved with eels and seaweed. He threw open the lid, sorted through the flags and found what he was looking for. It was the largest flag the Ocetanas possessed. Blood red and with a white circle dead centre. It was crossed black on the diagonal. Quarantine.
'Get this up the pole,' he said, thrusting it at the nearest Ocenii. 'Five stay and guard our backs, keep the fires going. The rest, with me. There's a lot of running still to do.'
Away across the great gardens, fire leapt into the sky. Kashilli looked over. The flames came from the palace doors and tumbled down a set of steps, scattering dead who thought to ascend. Ocenii were running towards the first watch tower. Kashilli waved. It was returned. Satisfied, he ducked his head and forced his way back down the stairs past his own men.
'One down, three to go. Let's go, squad seven.'
Iliev packed his parchments and charts into leather tubes and stowed them in a leather satchel that he slung over his shoulder so it hung down his back, leaving his arms free. Two of the dead in his office still twitched. They had weakened quickly under his assault. Breaking the spine of one had seen him collapse. He still moved feebly, hands clutching at the rug on which he lay, trying to pull himself forwards.
Iliev knelt by him. Those eyes bored into his. They showed no pain, no recognition. Blood dribbled and bubbled from his mouth. He said nothing. Iliev picked up his chin and examined the face. He had died of disease, not injury, this one. There were sores across his cheeks and eating into his eyes.
'Bitter's Plague ate you, my friend. But why won't you die now? Why won't you stop?'
Iliev let the head drop and walked to the window looking out over the back of the palace. The gardens held hundreds of dead. Where they'd come from, he had no idea. Cover was good. Hedges, trees. Easy enough to conceal yourself if you knew how. But that indicated some form of sentience beyond the single apparent desire to kill.
Something gave them direction. Or someone.
Beneath the dead standing outside, the vegetation was blackened. Wherever they moved, so that blackening continued. Iliev looked instead at the wall pathways. His squad and Kashilli's were both making good progress. Almost at the second watch tower now. Dead tracked them along the ground but didn't climb up the steps until the last moment.
Iliev looked back at his victims. Only one moved now. He had inched closer to Iliev.
'Don't like the stone so much, do you?' he said. 'Interesting.'
He walked past the dead and back out into the main rooms of the admiralty. The Tsardon still lay there. Blood was on his lips too and not just from the cut on his face. Iliev stood over him.
'Nicked a lung, did I? Well, such is the price you pay.' He shifted to his other foot, leaving his right free. 'It's you, isn't it? It's you that keeps them focused. Keeps them standing, maybe. Let's see, shall we?'
Iliev's right foot stamped down on the Tsardon's neck, crushing his windpipe. The tattooed man thrashed briefly, clawed at his throat and then was still. Iliev cocked his head, listening.
The fighting continued.
Gorian sat back hard against the side of the wagon as it jumped and jolted on a poor section of road. He felt like he'd been punched. And he felt loss. They would stand and move for a while but there was too little for them there. They would fall soon enough. He took his hand from Kessian's head and the boy relaxed but looked round, concern on his face.
'What happened, Father? Who were they?'
‘I told you not to piggy-back the energy trails,' said Gorian, impressed again at the boy's ability nonetheless. 'You should be concentrating on keeping our people here walking and well.'
‘I did that too.'
Gorian had no doubt that he did. He smiled briefly, ‘I shall have to watch you, shan't I, Kessian? Never too young to be the pretender, eh?'
Kessian's frown merely deepened, ‘I don't understand.' 'Good,' said Gorian.
He rubbed his hands over the hard green and brown skin of his face. It had got a little worse these past few days. So much to do, keeping the advance going. The sea was the hardest place. Energy everywhere but every person one step removed from it. He was lucky to have got them through the stone of the isle and onto the grasslands atop it.
But it hadn't been enough. That idiot Kathich had wanted too much time. And he hadn't been watching like Gorian had told him. Gorian growled deep in his throat. That boot coming down was an insult too far.
'Who were they, Father?'
'Enemies. And they took what I needed.'
'Were they the Ocenii, Father? Like Arducius was always talking about?'
'But even they will learn to fear me.' it isn't what that man said.'
‘I know what he said,' snapped Gorian and Kessian flinched. 'Just leave me alone. I need to think.'
So much was going so right. But he was alone. If only Mirron had come to help him bear the burden. Kessian was still too young; the Karkulas remained reluctant conduits and the Dead Lords could only hold the complete attention of the dead if Gorian was there to help them personally. It was hardly worth the effort. But it would have been. Should have been.
Gorian thumped the side of the wagon and looked out. The Gaws at Neratharn were next. Once the Tsardon king had orchestrated throwing them down he would join his son, marching under Gorian's
banner. The living were almost beyond their uses. Most of them. 'I can help you,' said Kessian. 'Not now, boy. I'm tired.'
'Then let me take this day on my own,' said Kessian. 'We only march. Don't look over me. See what the rest are doing. Help the ones on the sea to find what you want.'
Perhaps the boy did understand after all. Gorian gazed down on him and saw him shrink away a little. But then, a rest from being linked to every one of his subjects might not be a bad idea. Little harm could come to them out here. Still a long way from Neratharn. And he needed to find more new ways to keep his subjects from simply dropping where they stood. Decay was becoming a real problem.
'You really think you can do it?'
Kessian nodded. 'I can, Father. Please let me show you. And you might be able to rest more when I do. Perhaps the green will go away. It scares me that it is on you.'
'It is nothing to fear. It is the touch of the earth upon God, remember that. All right then. You try and hold them. Use the Karkulas as much as you need to. And if you are struggling, tell me. I won't be angry. Just don't let any of them fall. Then I would be angr
y. Raising is so much more draining than maintaining.'
'I won't let you down, Father.'
'See that you don't.'
Transferring overall control of the Work to Kessian was technically easy but it felt like handing over a helpless child to a clumsy adult. The Work sat in Kessian's consciousness with great comfort and Gorian watched as the boy, surely not consciously at all times, adapted to take on the new load.
Simultaneously, Gorian felt a great release of energy. He let it surge through him and he became more alive, more awake, than he had been in days. It cleared his mind. Kessian sighed and sat back against his cushion.
'Are you secure, Kessian?'
'Yes Father, but it is a weight.'
'Then consider how much more I bear on my own and be happy. I'll stay beside you, in case you need me.' 'Thank you, Father.'
Gorian smiled again but his mind was already far away. South to the Tirronean Sea. South to Estorr and beyond. The Ocenii were on the water and waiting for his people. He had to find ways to stop that. Only one Karkulas with them but four Dead Lords. It would have to suffice.
But first he had to be sure of something. He traced back north along
the energy lines. The world lay like a map before him. The thick grey
masses were the dead on Gestern's shores and sailing across the sea as fast as vessels could be brought to them. The slow deep brown and blue energies of the ocean that he used and refocused to bring life to
those inside the timbers of triremes. They weakened every day they were afloat. It drained him to keep them going, drained the Karkulas too.
North of Estorr and sailing towards Neratharn was a light so bright and so closed to him that it could only be one thing. The energy web that linked him to the dead picked it up and played it back to him. Strength set deep in the elements of the earth. Unwavering. A danger sign but one that surged through him with an orgasmic force.
No longer did they hide in the palace, awaiting their doom. They were coming for him.
'So much the better,' he said.
And he fell deep into himself and mulled over things that only Gods could understand.
Chapter Fifty-Two
859th cycle of God, 53rd day of Genasrise
Estorr burned.
Marshal General Elise Kastenas rode out of the Victory Gates and down the cleared path through the crowds that had barely thinned over the last seven days. With her went two hundred cavalry and twenty wagons. The sun was hot in the afternoon and the city basked. Late genasrise was a magnificent season but none paused to look at the beauty all around them.
One route had been established between the palace and the dock. Lines of infantry behind wooden barriers and carrying shields and truncheons, gladiuses sheathed, held back crowds that lined the way. The cordon was established from the gates, all the way along the processional drive towards the arena, down the slope of the Del Aglios Way, skirting the forum, through a maze of narrow streets and out in front of the harbour barracks.
The narrower roads were simply closed to all traffic and only the pavements of the wider ways were left available. This latter because paralysing the city for those few still keen to go about their business was not an option, and because Herine Del Aglios still believed in the necessity for free demonstration.
Her patience, though, was wearing extremely thin.
'And she hasn't even ridden out here,' said Elise. 'Shields!'
The order passed quickly down the four abreast column. The barrage of rotten fruit, vegetables and fish flew out over the infantry line. Horses skittered, cavalry spat filth from their mouths. Cheers rang out when a direct hit was made on helm or face. And there was worse. Elise could smell it. She turned in her saddle and looked back. Two cavalrymen right behind her were wiping shit from their faces.
Ahead, flimsy sacks were thrown into their path and at the head of
the column, impacting wetly and spreading red across the road. 'Blood of the Chancellor!' 'Advocate murderers!'
Elise did the only thing she could reasonably do and upped her pace. 'Canter,' she ordered.
The column followed her lead gratefully. Shouts, taunts and hoots, even a few cheers, followed them along the processional. She kept her bearing proud and her face calm despite the emotions boiling inside. At the turning downhill into the guts of the city, she saw that the road name had been hacked away from the wall. Only the 'A' of Aglios remained. The statue which had carried the name had been defaced.
Through the tight streets, they endured water and slops from windows above their heads. Endless detritus slapped on shield, breastplate and horse. Placards were thrust in their faces. Messages that had been vaguely humorous in the first couple of days were now painted bold and red and were extremely direct.
Burn the Advocate.
Del Aglios wears God's blood.
Ascendants will be ashes.
The Order must rule.
The Conquord is finished.
Elise could see the smoke and flames more clearly now. The violence had been contained in the harbour quarter to a large extent. Fears of the dead arriving by ship and flooding the city from the seaboard had sparked vicious rioting. Citizens had been killed, palace guards among them. It had forced much of the first Estorean legion to secure the docks and pen the rioters into an area of warehousing and slums already dubbed the Corpse Quarter. There the Advocate had been happy to let them destroy as much as they wished. No one else-was allowed access. She hoped the fury would burn itself out, metaphorically and literally. Looking at the dozens of fires within the square half mile, Elise doubted it would happen any time soon.
And time was something that appeared to be in short supply. Industry had ground to a standstill. Order agitators had organised attacks on armouries and weapons manufacturers, denying supply to the legions, stopping deliveries to the field. A great deal of damage had been done before the areas were secured. The water supply to the palace had been disrupted, food deliveries were attacked and robbed.
All vital supplies were now guarded and secured. Pipes had been repaired and well stations guarded by archer and sarissa alike. But it had forced a dangerous thinning of the defence. The Armour of God, of course, knew it. They hadn't moved yet but it was surely just a matter of time. To do so would declare open rebellion and without a figurehead, even their ageing Prime Sword, Horst Vennegoor, would not take a chance.
Elise and her cavalry rode through the harbour security cordon and rattled to a stop on the wide apron that led away from the dockside. So far, the dock remained working and most of its employees still turned up. Many lived there, knowing that to go back to their houses meant intimidation. A stream of men and women with buckets and cloths ran up to help clean away the filth from rider and horse alike.
Dismounting, Elise nodded her thanks and strode to Harbour Master Stertius who waited by his offices. The harbour was open but was eerily quiet for the middle of the day, barring a hum from the dockside itself. Ships awaited goods that were not forthcoming from the city. And inward trade was piled up with nowhere to go. The forum was closed to merchants, transformed into a makeshift centre for the organisation of dissent; and the roads out of the city were blocked by demonstrators in more places than the Advocacy could properly cover.
'Marshal General, I'm honoured.'
'Master Stertius, the Advocate wishes to convey her personal thanks for your continued loyalty. And I needed to ride out here. Sometimes, the guiding hand must see at first hand what has only been reported.'
'Brave,' said Stertius.
Elise shrugged. 'Not really. The mood is ugly but they won't attack an armoured column.' ^Not yet.'
'What do you mean?' Elise didn't like the look on the master's face.
'Hold on a moment.' Stertius snapped his fingers and a man came trotting over. 'Let's get those wagons loaded and turned. And find the cavalry something to eat and drink if they feel clean enough.'
He gestured for Elise to walk with him and she fell
into step as they walked across the apron and out on to the dockside. It was heaving with ships and sailors. They lounged on deck or sat on the concrete sides playing dice, cards or just talking. The atmosphere wasn't unpleasant but it was plainly discontented.
'I'm a couple of days from closing the harbour to new traffic,' said Stertius. 'Every ship here is empty. No one will leave because to do so is ruin. But staying here means they cannot pay their crews and it won't be too long before trouble flares. We've enough food and drink for a while but it won't last.'
'You can't even get them to sail a couple of days north to Vettorum? Trade will be fine there.'
'But it's not Estorr, Marshal. The prices are not as keen. We can't force them away and most have unloaded. It's expensive to reload and profits are already squeezed. Yet that isn't why most won't actually go, though they won't openly admit it.'
'Ah,' Elise said.
'They're a superstitious lot. And we've had refugees in here the past couple of days as you know. The dead are on the sea. You think a sailor not in the Ocetanas has any interest in joining them?'
They walked on along the dock. Stertius paused to speak to reassure people that Elise's presence was evidence of a determination to ease the situation and ensure security. Elise related Karl Iliev's plans and the fact the entire fleet was at sea and patrolling was of both interest and comfort.
Stertius kept the smile on his face until they had walked the entire length of the dock to one of the harbour-mouth castles. There, he let it drop and Elise felt a tightness in her throat while they climbed the stairs to the artillery positions on the roof. The onagers were gleaming. Engineers were all over them, tightening, replacing, oiling.
Harbour guards saluted Elise but there was no pleasure in the greetings. Each and every one of them appeared strained. Scared, even. Stertius still didn't speak. Up on the flagpole, the green flag signifying message received was fluttering in the sea breeze. Stertius handed her a magnifier and pointed her towards a ship in the deep water, well outside of the harbour and casual sight.
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