'Hey Davarov! See you on the other side. And you know what? If we survive, these little beauties might just come in handy.'
From his position, Roberto could see over the open left-hand side of the fort and down into the compound. His laughter cramped in his throat and he prayed for the cycles of all those about to die. Down on the ground, the seething mass of humanity had stalled. Below him the great gates were closed and he could hear futile pounding on the timbers. Too many people crammed into the space to allow them to open inwards as they must. It would have been pointless anyway. The wave would surely catch them and the fort needed the strength of the closed portals if it was to have a better chance of standing after the wave had passed.
People were still moving up the slopes. Heaving masses, slowed almost to a standstill. Hands grasped as feet stumbled. Men and women fell from the sides on to the heads of those pinned to the walls themselves with no hope of climbing to questionable safety.
The roof of the fort began to fill. Legionaries taking the lead of their engineers and clinging on to whatever they could find. Camaraderie blossomed. The raw recruit and the triarii veteran beckoned each other into embrace. Armour and belt straps were held in death grips. More and more spilled onto the roof. And through the mess of limbs and bodies, people crowding into Roberto's left and right, hanging like him on to the net, he saw one familiar face.
'Julius!' Miraculously, the Speaker heard him and turned. His jaw dropped and he shouldered his way to Roberto. 'Get yourself in here, you bastard. Hang on tight.'
'Surprised you want me to live through this.'
'Like I said before, we all need to live. Even fucking idiots like you.'
Barias grinned briefly and wrapped his arms through the net. Plenty of people were on it. Roberto hoped it would be strong enough to hold them all.
Screams intensified from below. The juddering of the fort made seeing anything difficult but it couldn't obscure the sight of the wave washing through the administration buildings and overwhelming every man and woman who had crowded in, on or around it. The surge of noise sent a shooting pain into his head. The rumble of the wave became a roar. The steam and dust buffeted up and over the back wall of the fort. It swallowed them up in its choking stench.
The earth wave struck the Jewelled Barrier.
Roberto was aware that he and everyone around him was calling, screaming and shouting. Oaths and prayers or just emptying the lungs. The world shook and shuddered, turned on its side and back again. Leapt high and fell. Roberto tried to look but all he got were jumbled images. They were enough.
People falling, hurled like dolls against wall, man and onager. The onagers themselves, slithering sideways and crushing screaming engineers against battlements that crumbled and threatened to fall. Other engines tipped sideways, sliding and crashing to the ground. Onager stones rumbled across the roof. Pitch spewed everywhere. The wheel of an artillery frame attached to shattered timbers flew across the fort, smashing into people scant inches from Roberto, dashing skulls to fragments, smearing bodies.
A great rending crack ricocheted through the stone beneath him. A dozen others followed it. The fort lurched. Roberto's body was shaking so hard he had to close his eyes for a moment. He heard stone tumbling in torrents. The flat crack of snapping timbers reached him. He opened his eyes.
A rent pulled wide open right along the centre of the fort, passing directly under him. Soldiers, pulled free of their moorings, slid across the fort and followed pitch fire, artillery fragments and projectiles, tumbling to the ground below. The whole right side of the fort sagged outwards over the barrier wall running north to the Lake lyre. Roberto half slid over the rent but the rope of the net held him, legs dangling over the carnage below.
Bodies covered in stone. Filth spreading from the wave. It passed directly beneath him, a shivering, rumbling unnatural ripple of death and destruction. It burst through the great gates. Battlements crumbled, sheared and fell. Sections of the wall surged up to the sky, thumped back down and toppled outwards into Atreska. People by the hundred were tossed aside, falling back onto concrete or into the fetid rot below.
Of the people who had gripped the net, only four remained. Julius was one of them. He was hanging by his hands over the shattered fort, the whole right side of which was rubble and spears of timber. The rest of it, gone to crush those on the wall beneath it. Blood smeared every surface.
'Hang on, Julius,' said Roberto.
‘I will this time, Ambassador.'
'You do that.'
Cracks and rumbles echoed north and south. Sections of the Jewelled Barrier collapsed on themselves, fell in and out. Dust clouds carried on a stinking breeze clogged Roberto's eyes and mouth. He coughed, hawked phlegm from his throat and spat. Stones and shards of rock tumbled and pattered. The noise began to subside. The wave rumbled out into Atreska. And above it, the screams of the wounded and dying, the cries of the terrified and the prayers of Julius Barias.
Roberto glanced to his left. This side of the fort had remained intact though skewed at an angle down and back into the compound where nothing remained but sludge covering the bodies of the thousand upon thousand slaughtered there. Legionaries and engineers still covered the battlements, laughing and crying in relief if they had the wit to make any sound at all.
And Davarov. Davarov was still there. The torch bracket hung by one bolt but he was still there and through the dust covering his deeply tanned face, Roberto could see a grim smile. He couldn't see Harban for the moment. The Karku was too smart a mountaineer to have fallen, though.
Roberto fumbled for the belt buckle, loosened it and pulled himself to his feet. He knelt and grasped one of Barias's arms. Julius turned towards him and with a nod, Roberto hauled him up. Julius clawed and pulled with his free hand until he was once again on the stone, dragging in huge breaths.
'Thank you, Ambassador.'
'The pleasure is all mine,' said Roberto.
He stood and looked out into Atreska. The wave carried on. It swept through the dead standing there, felling them all and engulfing the wagon of the Gor-Karkulas. Roberto frowned. Beyond them, the Tsardon, as if they had been waiting, roared and charged. Roberto wiped at his face, too weary to be scared.
'Bastards,' muttered Davarov now beside him. 'I told you we couldn't trust them.'
'I don't think it matters all that much, Davarov,' said Roberto and he pointed out into the plains, ruined more and more with every passing heartbeat. 'The wave isn't stopping.'
Davarov grunted and pointed down at the ground close to the ruined walls where hundreds of Conquord citizens had been hurled.
'No. And the dead aren't staying dead, either.'
Chapter Sixty-Three
859th cycle of God, 12th day of Genasfall
The dead were flooding into the harbour. The dual fort artillery thudded and sounded. Flaming onager stones, ballista stones and scorpion shafts poured onto the fleet, sixty and more strong crowding the harbour mouth. The fire was withering. Ships were driven into their neighbours by the force of onager strikes. Timbers holed and shattered. Masts were splintered. Sails fell into the water, acting as drag anchors, pulling ships off course. Tsardon and dead were dragged to the bosom of Ocetarus in their hundreds.
Yet still enough got through the bombardment. Inside, the harbour was a wall of flame and smoke. Heat radiated out beyond the walls and into the ocean. Iliev was at the tiller of Ocenii squad seven's corsair. Kashilli rode the spike low. His oarsmen made almost forty stroke. They'd been doing it much of the day.
Out to sea, the Conquord triremes battered at the laggards of the Tsardon fleet. Half a dozen enemy ships were burning, sinking fast. Three squads were in the water wreaking havoc among the stragglers. Others had chased north and south to combat the dead landing on the beaches and heading for the city walls.
Iliev turned them away from the harbour mouth and made for the blank sea-facing wall of the south fort. Atop it, he could see engineers and harbour guards wo
rking furiously to prime catapults. Smoke from the barrels of pitch that would be burning low by now, obscured much of its roof.
'Easing back, twenty stroke. Heading into fort shadow and calm water. Time to climb, marines.'
At sight of the approaching corsair, rope ladders were flung from the roof. Escape ladders on another day. They fell to just a couple of feet from the gentle swell. Iliev brought the corsair in spike first.
Kashilli ran out along it, grabbed the nearest ladder and hauled, balancing his weight to swing the corsair in. Oarsmen raised and stowed their blades.
'Let's be having you,' said Kashilli. ‘I'm not holding onto this thing purely for my health.'
Squad seven attacked the climb, moving up hand over hand, swift dark marks against the bright white-painted stone of the fortress. Iliev watched them go. Not a one of them had fallen since Kester Isle. Not a one had been victim of Bitter's Plague.
'Let's remember our brothers less fortunate,' he called up. 'Every dead we drop is tiny recompense. There's a lot of dead to go before we achieve balance in the eyes of Ocetarus.'
Iliev and Kashilli took the ladders last. Kashilli had tied off the corsair and had his sledgehammer rammed in his belt at the back. The shaft bounced off his legs with every move up.
'Don't much care for dry land, skipper,' he said. 'But where the enemy go ...'
'The Ocenii follow. And we make our own sea of bad blood.'
Kashilli smiled at him. It was an old Ocenii saying, and it was a long time since it had been made reality.
Breasting the crenellations, Iliev could feel the heat of the burning docks hit him like a heavy slap in the face. He blew out his cheeks and dropped to the roof. Every man came to attention and he waved them away.
'You have better things to do. Carry on.'
Iliev and Kashilli strode to the harbour-side wall to join Master Stertius and Marshal Vasselis. They looked over the side. Iliev barely recognised the scene as Estorr's docks. He caught Kashilli's expression and raised his eyebrows.
'Admiral Iliev,' said Vasselis. 'Well met, even if the manner of your arrival was a little, unorthodox.'
'We'd have rowed in the front door but I see you have it barred against the odd intruder,' said Iliev.
A dense cloud of black smoke and ash was building in the sky overhead, fed by the flames of what had to be two hundred and more ships moored sometimes three deep along the dockside. They made an impenetrable barrier which the dead would not cross. But the fires would soon begin to burn out as ships' hulls were breached and sank.
The Tsardon ships already inside the harbour were standing off the dockside, waiting. Living Tsardon sailors were trying to douse some of the blazes as best they could but the dead just waited. And all the while, scorpions and ballistae were knocking them down, holing their craft. Target practice. The dead, though, unless broken in the lower back or with legs pulped, simply got up again and retook their places.
Forty enemy ships were there as time fled away to the moment when they could assault the shore. Tsardon not engaged in fire duties were arcing arrows over the burning defence. Men were getting injured. Some would be getting killed. Iliev chewed his lip, knowing it was just a matter of time before they would rise once more.
The catapults on the forts sang again. Stones and bolts flew out into the harbour mouth. A Tsardon trireme was struck amidships, just above the second oar rank. The flaming onager stone smashed through timber and man. Oars jerked up or were splintered, shivered in their blocks. The whole ship moved sideways. A gout of water spewed from the hole; the stone had pierced the hull. Smoke and flame could be seen within.
Before long, whoever could make it past the forts would have done so and Stertius would have to reposition his artillery. This phase of the fight for Estorr was almost at an end. The next was soon to begin. Kashilli hefted his sledgehammer in his hand. It was a gesture full of meaning but if any missed it, the growl in his throat was confirmation enough. Iliev nodded.
'The docks are full of infantry but will they stand?' he said. 'They do not have the right weapons to combat the dead.'
'There is nowhere for them to run,' said Stertius. 'The dead are at the walls north and south. They have ladders and they have no fear. But we should be able to hold them there. If the city is not to be overrun we have to.'
'Braver men than either of us have quailed before the walking dead,' said Iliev. 'Reason alone will not keep them standing. We have had some success. I will lead the ground defence.'
Vasselis whistled in a breath. 'Your place is here, Admiral. Directing battle. We need your experience.'
Iliev shook his head. 'I am Ocenii. Experience is nothing today. Courage is everything. That and Kashilli's hammer.'
'Then may the Omniscient smile upon you. For he surely turned from us the moment the first fire was lit and the first innocent dead was reduced to ashes.'
‘I don't care if your God smiles upon me or not. And you have done what you had to do to save your city. Any true God will praise you, not damn you for that.' Iliev turned to Stertius. 'Bring your artillery round now. Take down as many as you can. Fire is vital. They will walk the harbour bed to the steps unless they are no more than flames on the deck.'
'Yes, Admiral.'
'Kashilli? Let's have seven with us. We have work to do.'
'Skipper,' acknowledged Kashilli. 'Squad seven! Rest time is over. To the gangway. Double time. Axes and hammers, you bastards, axes and hammers.'
Iliev saw the look in Vasselis's eyes. 'Join us, Marshal. You have skill with the blade. I used to watch you at the Games.'
'My days in the arena are long past as, I fear, is my speed and my eye.'
'So be it. But it is the only place to be. Out there, where the blood runs and the enemy fall at your feet.'
'Ocetarus will keep you, Karl Iliev. And you'll find Elise and Marcus down there somewhere. I think both share your opinion.'
Iliev nodded and the need to feel dead bone crush beneath his hammer surged through him.
'The Advocate chooses her advisers well.'
'She did,' said Vasselis and he looked away, down to the ground. 'You do not know that she is dead, do you?' Iliev started. 'What?'
'Many are the deeds that will be retold,' said Vasselis. 'Dedicate yours to her memory. Win this for her, Karl. And when it is over, find me and I will tell you what really happened. Anything you hear on the streets is a falsehood.'
‘I will not let this City fall to the dead,' said Iliev.
'Then the Advocate's death will not have been in vain.'
Hesther was in the Chancellery with the tenth-strand survivors. Yola, Mina and Petrevius. The youngsters of the eleventh and the little ones of the twelfth strand were already in the safe room in the cellar. Meera and Andreas were looking after them, telling them stories and feeding them sweet foods and drinks. Down there it was quiet and it was as much for that reason as for security that they were there, far from the sounds of invasion.
The palace was secured. Vasselis and Gesteris had seen to that, leaving a good strength of guards and artillery to keep back the dead should the outer defences fall. It was the place where the last battle would be fought if it came to that. The look in Vasselis's eyes when he left told her that he had no real confidence they would live to see out the day.
With two city gates under attack, frightened citizens had few places to go. Those deciding the Hill was the safest bet were outside the Victory gates now, demanding entrance. That time might come. But it was not yet.
The Conquord was on the brink of disaster. The Advocate was dead. No one knew if her first two heirs, Roberto and Adranis were alive or even where they were. The first Ascendants were in Neratharn along with the Exchequer. Only Tuline remained in Estorr and she was lost to grief. Vasselis was holding the threads together but forces were striving to drag them from his grasp every moment.
And despite all this, sitting in the bizarre peace of the Chancellery with shouting and violence muted behind the
shutters, Hesther Naravny, Mother of the Ascendancy could only think that these tenth-stranders were acting out scenes from her past in Westfallen. Something like that anyway, because she was damned sure she'd seen all these characters before.
'They wanted to kill us a couple of days ago,' said Yola. 'Now they come here wanting sanctuary. Let them die.'
'What a fantastic outlook on life. You must be so proud.' said Petrevius.
'Meaning?'
'Meaning they were angry because me, you and Mina managed to kill hundreds of their friends. Surely we should be extending the olive branch. Doing everything we can to help them. Put them on our side.'
'Ar ...' Hesther put a hand to her mouth. 'I'm sorry, I mean Petrevius is right. When this is over, we will need acceptance all over again. They might forget the violent breaking of a demonstration. They won't forget friends sacrificed to the dead because the Ascendancy kept the gates closed on them.'
'But they don't deserve it,' said Yola, her face was flushed and angry. 'If they had believed in us from the start, none of this would have happened. It's them who should be saying sorry to us.'
'Don't be an idiot, Yola,' said Petrevius. 'Most of them were just following what the Order told them to follow. But the Chancellor is dead now too, so we can start again.'
'You're the naive one, Petre. It'll be like before with Ardu and the rest. They'll love us for a day and then they'll turn against us.'
'So what do you suggest?' asked Hesther. 'Our path is not littered with choices, is it?'
'Not everyone hates us,' said Yola. 'Let the rest die and keep those who feel for us.'
'And you'll be the one to choose, will you?' Petrevius was unable to stay seated any longer. 'Who gave you the right to decide who lives and who dies?'
'I'm not choosing. Except to do nothing.'
A Shout for the Dead Page 64