Vasselis dragged his horse to a stop in a sea of citizens and soldiers clogging the approaches to the harbour. The movement of artillery was tortuously slow. The provision of ammunition, most of which had been removed by the Armour of God for their siege on the palace, was lacking. The muster of the legions and the Armour was being hampered by a populace desperate to ensure their property was safeguarded and to escape the menace of the dead. Estorr had descended once more into chaos.
'Where is Vennegoor?' demanded Vasselis.
'He left an hour ago, Marshal,' said a centurion within earshot.
He was an old soldier, triarii from the wars ten years ago, now in the militia and hoping for a quiet retirement. No such luck.
'Why?'
'He didn't say, sir.'
'I bet he didn't.' Vasselis cast about him. 'Can we not at least get people moving back into the city, to the forums?'
'We've got people wanting to get to their boats and ships. Traders and merchants looking for the quick way out. Plenty of paying passengers not willing to leave the dockside in case their ride goes without them. And the other thousands you see here? God-surround-me, but I don't know. Chancers, thieves and the curious I expect.'
Vasselis turned his horse to look at the throng. The militia and some of the Armour of God had established a perimeter barring entrance to the harbour side itself but the marshalling yards without were crammed with people. The principal routes to and from the dock were crowded with too many. The noise was unbearable. Shouting jostling and fighting broke out every heartbeat. Orders to evacuate west were being largely ignored.
'The price you pay for following the Order,' he muttered. 'Idiots. Do they still really not believe what is coming at them?'
'Master Stertius was looking for you, Marshal,' said the centurion.
'Him and the rest of Estorr. All right. Who's in charge of the city-side soldiers?'
'Marshal Defender Kastenas is riding between us and the harbour-side defence, Marshal. I'm the voice here, though.'
'Then I'm glad I found you. What's your name, Centurion?' 'Milius, Marshal.'
'Keep your standard close, we'll need you when the enemy land. I can see you're lacking in numbers but we need to get a path through this mob up to the central forum. I've got six onagers coming down from the Hill and I can't get them through. Where is the second legion, Armour of God? Vennegoor promised they would be here.'
Milius sucked his lip. 'Want the opinion of the common soldier?'
Vasselis sighed. 'I'm not going to like it but go on.'
'Heading west, Marshal. Running into the hills because they know they cannot defeat this enemy by faith alone and they are fearful of how the citizens will view them.'
Vasselis nodded. 'You're probably right. Running away into the open spaces they denied their own faithful. Well, let's keep the ones we have here. Let me through. Stertius is at the south fort?'
'Yes, Marshal.'
Milius motioned for the legionaries behind him to make a space. Someone grabbed at Vasselis's ankle. He looked down into the face of a merchant, rich by his clothes and jewellery, who had broken from the press and run across the short space between citizen and legionary.
'I am Olivius Nulius and I demand access to my property which is currently moored just beyond your line of thugs, Marshal Vasselis. You are the de facto ruler of this city. Do something about it.'
'When the Armour of God laid siege to the palace, I begged them to evacuate the city. They would not listen. And where were you, I wonder? Demanding the rightful ruler be allowed to rule or standing in a cheering mob looking to make money out of misfortune? Well, now it's too late. You should have run when you had the chance.
'My line of thugs is here to stop morons like you getting in the way of the defence of this city. There is no escape through the harbour. The Tsardon and their army are right outside. I warn you now, get yourself and your friends away from the dock, the approaches and clear the streets.'
'You are obstructing a citizen going about his lawful business,' said Nulius, gaining the ear of many standing nearby.
Vasselis leaned out of his saddle. 'Nulius, I will say this quietly because I do not wish to humiliate you. I see the fear in your eyes. You know what is coming and you would seek to escape, run like the coward you undoubtedly are, no doubt making a huge profit in the process. I am prepared to sacrifice my life here on this dock today. All you have to do is sacrifice your ship. And that is what you will do. I am protecting the citizens and I am shamed that you are one of them. Now take your hand off my ankle or I will cut it off for you.'
Vasselis spurred his horse and galloped onto the harbour side. Here at least there was organisation and there was control. Scorpions and ballistae lined the wall. Every berth had been filled with ships, two and three deep where possible. And each one of them had been coated in lantern oil, dry straw and anything else easily combustible. Pitch barrels stood by the artillery pieces. Archers and slingers were on station. When the dead landed, there was going to be a fire that would surely reach to the skies and the bed of the ocean. It was the best defence they had.
Vasselis made quick progress to the south fort from which the invasion flags flew alongside the Kester Isle quarantine sheet. A depressing message for any who looked on it. He left his horse with a handler looking after twenty others in the entrance yard of the fort and ran up the wide shallow concrete slope that led to the roof.
Here, the quiet was at odds with the rumble of noise from the marshalling yards and beyond. Vasselis looked back over the city, up the wide streets angling up to the hill and saw his onagers still a long way back. Skittish cavalry horses tried to make a path for the ox-drawn wagons but the press of people moving in every direction was a barricade as solid as rock. One thing the Advocacy loyals couldn't afford was more innocent citizens dying.
The fort was in a state of readiness that gave him some hope. Out here, eight onagers stood. Ballistae sat between them, sighted through the battlements. Below, other artillery positions held more bolt and stone firers. Pitch barrels burned. Crews waited. Flagmen passed signals to and from the north fort across the other side of the harbour.
Vasselis could see Stertius and Kastenas in discussion at the wall overlooking the harbour mouth. He joined them.
it's madness down there. God-embrace-me but the Order did a great job persuading people there was no dead menace.'
'They're going to find out the hard way that they're wrong,' said Kastenas. 'We don't have enough infantry, artillery or archers in any position apart from right here.'
'Well, that's something, Elise,' said Vasselis.
'Not really, Marshal,' said Stertius, handing him a magnifier. 'The dead have already landed to the south and the north. They'll be at the walls in less than an hour.'
Vasselis looked through the magnifier. Across the city and through a gap between rises in the land, he could see sails and the odd keel high up on the beach.
'But the gates are closed, yes?'
'Of course,' said Elise. 'But the dead are carrying ladders and we have no strength there. The Armour of God have not responded to your orders. Vennegoor is nowhere to be seen and if you can show me an Order minister, any Order minister, I'll swim to the north fort and back in my armour and cloak.'
‘I heard as much,' said Vasselis. He handed Stertius back the magnifier. 'Where are they?'
Elise made a gesture that encompassed the whole city. 'At every House of Masks. They aren't running, they're protecting their Readers, Speakers, whoever. I have a report here that says they are going to use their faith to turn back the dead.'
Vasselis took his green-plumed helmet from his head and thought about dashing his forehead against the stone of the crenellations.
'A collective leaving of the senses,' he said. 'Stupid bastards. We need their muscle. Doesn't Vennegoor see it? He might be a zealot but he's still a soldier.'
Elise shrugged. 'They're scared. They don't want to face it, is all I can think
of to explain it. Those from the Armour who are with us are the few with any guts in either legion. Others have already run from the west gates under the pretext of evacuating the faithful who want to go.'
Vasselis held up his hands.
'All right, let's forget them. For now. What's coming through the harbour mouth?'
Vasselis looked for himself while Stertius replied. He didn't need a magnifier. Fifty, sixty or more Tsardon vessels. They were well ahead of the Ocetanas of whom Vasselis could count only eight with three corsairs in the water. The first enemies were within half a mile of the onagers ranged behind him. Not long now.
'What happened to them all?' he asked.
'Remember what Arducius said ?' said Elise. 'The dead only need to get one or two sailors on a Conquord ship and if Gorian is reanimating, it could cost dearly.'
'Iliev?'
'He's still out there,' said Stertius. 'The Ocetarus is sailing and squad seven is on the water. Kashilli is an unmissable figure.' 'Who?'
'Trierarch of Iliev's corsair,' said Stertius. 'We could use him on shore. Fearless and brutal.'
'Could do with ten thousand of him,' said Vasselis.
From the north fort, a signal was being flagged. And way beyond the din in the yards below, the unmistakable sound of a catapult firing. Its dull thud carried across rooftop and water. The effect was instantaneous. A quiet began to descend on the city. The thud was repeated again and again.
Reality at last, coupled with the first shouts of panic and alarm.
'Let's hope your explosive powder works like you say it does,' said Elise.
The report of a detonation sounded across the city. An alien crack that turned every head, quietening the crowd. Vasselis smiled ruefully. 'A successful test, I'd say. Time to act. Time to pray.'
Davarov had had to shout at artillery crews to keep firing, keep looking ahead into Atreska though it was hard enough to keep himself focused. Roberto and the Karku man, Harban standing with him on the gate fort had long since abandoned looking at the enemy attacking the walls and were gazing back behind them into Neratharn.
The sky had darkened and there had been extraordinary noise like the falling of a mountain. Light had seared across the field behind him and he, like every man and woman on the walls, had turned to look, shudder and give thanks they were not beneath the onslaught out beyond the refugee camp.
East across the walls, the dead were still coming. For every fifty obliterated by stone or the powder that Davarov was still using, if sparingly, another hundred made it that much closer. Bowmen were in range and firing, so far without success. But it was the ladders that concerned him. Just a few dead on the walls and the ripple could spread like disease.
Still the Tsardon had not moved into the attack. Their artillery was stationary and out of range.
'Wait on, you bastards,' said Davarov. 'You, I can take at my leisure.'
Confidence was growing in the defence. The sky behind him cleared abruptly and the sun poured on to the camps and open grounds behind the barrier. Davarov turned at the sound of cheering, swelling in volume and carrying all the way to the walls from the western lines some three miles away. Tens of thousands of voices, most of whom could not have seen what happened on the ground but knew victory when they heard it.
‘I don't believe it,' he said.
'Believe it,' said Roberto. 'You know what they're capable of.'
Davarov smiled and enveloped Roberto in a huge bear hug. 'Don't you know what this means? We're going to win. This lot will never get over our walls now. The momentum is with us. It's all but over.'
But Roberto didn't smile or return his embrace. Davarov let him go and stood back.
'What is it, Roberto?'
'Until every dead is returned to the earth. Until Gorian's head is on a platter in front of me, it is not over.'
Cheering had begun to spread along the walls too. Davarov turned to deliver a rebuke that would drown out all their voices but instead he felt more like joining in. The dead weren't advancing any more. And while artillery rounds still fell amongst them they merely stood as if waiting for the inevitable.
'We've done it,' said Davarov, feeling relief flood him. 'We've surely done it, Roberto, look.'
And Roberto did. Only he shook his head.
'Keep firing. Something's not right. I can feel it.'
Davarov's mood deserted him. If there was one thing he'd learned in all his years' service to Roberto Del Aglios, it was that when he had one of those feelings, it was time to worry.
Gorian felt them go, all of them. One by one and then in torrents. Each one left a gossamer thread to trail like a loose nerve ending. They flailed and shrivelled and the pain worsened until it was like ten thousand needle points deep in his heart and mind.
He screamed long and loud. The dead surrounding him and the Gor-Karkulas shuddered where they stood or sat. His agony fed through every energy line he controlled. He felt as if he was on fire. His eyes ached so hard he wanted to expel them from his body. His heart pounded, rattling his ribs. His legs lost all of their strength and he staggered against the side of the wagon. He put his hands to his head and screamed again.
Ahead of Gorian, it was over. His people. Those who loved and trusted him, whom he had brought to him. All were gone. Snatched from him by Them. He had tried to thwart them but he could not combat all three at once. Another swathe of pain washed over him and he gasped and clutched at his stomach. He dropped to his knees, exhaustion sweeping over him.
'Kessian!' he called, his mouth full of blood. He spat it out. His insides were wrecked. He had invested too much. 'Kessian.'
Across the wall, his people awaited his next command. South on the beaches and docks of Estorr, they moved without him for now but the Karkulas would not be able to hold the Work indefinitely without his input. He had to find strength and stamina from somewhere.
'Kessian.'
Nothing more than a half-growl this time. Gorian coughed up and spat another clot of blood from his throat. He picked up his head. He could hear the shouts and cheers on the wind. It enraged him, brought sharpness to his mind. He gripped the side of the wagon and hauled himself to his feet.
'Father? Father!' Kessian ran to him, wrapped arms around him and tried to hold him up. 'What happened? Where did all the soldiers go? It hurt, Father. You're hurt.'
'But it fades. We must avenge our people.'
'But we have no one,' said Kessian. 'Only these few. The Dead Lords are gone too.'
'We have me and you,' said Gorian. 'And that will be enough.' 'What will we do?'
'We will make the land fit for my people and they shall see it and they shall love it as they love me. Stand in front of me.'
Gorian looked at the Gor-Karkulas, both of whom were eyeing him with that mixture of hatred and disdain that he had come to loathe.
'I don't need you any more,' he said. 'You may go.'
The few remaining dead parted from the wagon. Gorian didn't wait to see if the Karkulas went or not. It hardly mattered. He placed both his hands on Kessian's head. He focused all of his hate, his malice and his jealousy on the land that surrounded him. He poured in all of the wrongs that had been committed against him. And with it the will to rule, to succeed where the others would always fail. Everything that had been denied him reared up in his mind and he fed it down.
Grass grew into twisted dark stalks, spiralling up their bodies. He felt the shoots pierce his body but the blood would not flow. Not this time. The energy he drew from himself, Kessian and the land he fed down the shoots. More and more thickened and joined themselves to him. And with this purity of circuit, with no waste of energy whatever, he drove the Work that would make them all realise who he was.
'I am become the earth,' he said and his voice was like the rumble of lava beneath a sleeping volcano. 'I am become the earth and the earth shall be mine.'
'Keep back, give them room,' shouted Jhered.
Refugees and soldiers were pouring towards the As
cendants all lying prone on the ground, tired but not spent, wrinkled but not aged. Yet saddened, all three of them. Jhered knew how they felt, Mirron was sure. He stood protectively over them. Mirron was watching him alternately looking down and then away to wave his arms.
'Give them space. God-surround-me, they need to rest and breathe,' he said, his voice almost drowned by the roar of noise and the drumming of thousands of feet on the packed earth.
Mirron clutched at Arducius and the two of them moved to Ossacer, feeding warmth into him.
'I felt him,' stammered Ossacer. 'He was all over me, inside me. It was like darkness and plague. So much bile and hatred. We must get him. Before he regains his strength.'
'We have taken his strength from him,' said Mirron. 'Feel the earth. Feel it relax.'
Ossacer was shaking his head where he lay. He was still shivering, Jhered's cloak about him. Out on the field, charred skeletons collapsed into ember and dust, the heat still belching up into the air.
'Where is he?' asked Jhered. He had persuaded the crowds to back off and in truth, it appeared their desire to hug their saviours began to dissipate the nearer they came. 'We cannot let him get away or this will happen again.'
'He's out there,' said Arducius, moving to a sitting position and brushing wet hair from his face. 'Not far. A mile, maybe two.'
'I'll have riders and scouts sent out,' said Jhered. 'We'll find him and then you can deal with him.'
‘It won't be that easy,' said Ossacer. it's never that easy with Gorian.'
Mirron turned her head to the west. Gorian was there somewhere. And her son. He had to be. Lost and alone, thoughts filled with the words of his father no doubt. Evil words designed to turn his head.
'Where are you, Kessian,' she whispered. 'Please be safe.'
A Shout for the Dead Page 62