A Shout for the Dead (19 page)

Gorian angled them well up to the right and Kessian surprised himself by feeling a little disappointed. He wanted to know what they felt right now. But he knew the king wouldn't wait. It was a bit like having to see the Advocate. She made all the rules.

The two of them walked through the Tsardon army. Kessian drew closer to Gorian. The men were huge, covered in thick furs or dark metal and leather armour. Their voices sounded harsh and came from mouths full of broken and rotten teeth, surrounded by stubble and beard and mired in dirt and grime.

They looked down at Kessian and over at Gorian with obvious distaste and although some of them showed some fear, most wouldn't move aside for them. Some even got in the way. Gorian didn't react, just kept a firm hand on Kessian's shoulder and steered him through the camp. He was heading for a grand-looking set of pavilions with flying pennants, set a little way from the bulk of the army.

The king was standing warming his hands over a fire and talking to a couple of other men. Kessian could tell he was the king right away. The energy map surrounding him pulsed strong and calm like the Advocate's always did. Although he wore clothes similar to many of his soldiers, they were of fine tailoring. A chain of gold hung from his left shoulder to his right hip and a shining dark cloak was clasped about his shoulders. His face was clean and shaven, his mid-brown skin looked scrubbed and oiled in the firelight and his hands were adorned with thick gold rings. He had a single tattoo across his forehead depicting galloping horses.

'He's from a steppe cavalry high family,' said Gorian when Kessian asked about it. 'And royalty in Tsard always displays its lineage like that.'

'What happens if he stops being king?'

'I don't think the thought has ever crossed his mind,' said Gorian.

He marched them straight up to the fire. None of the guards near the king challenged them or gave them any more than a glance. The king noticed them, dismissed one of the men and nodded at the other to make him see who was coming. The man turned round and Kessian's breath caught in his throat. He was so ugly. His face looked like it had been hit with a rock. His small eyes stared out of a face absolutely covered with tattoos. Kessian couldn't make any of them out. They were just meaningless squiggles and dots and lines. But it wasn't just the face that made Kessian scared, it was his aura. It was cold. Cold like death though he was not a reawakened one. Whoever he was, he bowed to Gorian.

'My Lord Gorian,' he said in a thick accent. His voice was like stone dragged over stone.

Gorian nodded to him but bowed to the king. 'King Khuran, if I may?'

The king shrugged and gestured.

'Condition?' demanded Gorian of the tattooed man.

'Significant damage. Wear was considerable. Projectile impacts from that height are difficult. I am suggesting forty per cent will not go further without repair. A waste of thread and subsequently a waste of your energy, my Lord.'

'Muscle depletion?'

'Mostly. Some limbs. Fractures of legs and lower back are common. They will walk but they will decline quickly and the drain on you will be out of proportion with their worth.'

'Suggestion?'

'I will sort them. You can inspect at your leisure and administer the touch to those you agree are of no further use.'

Gorian nodded. 'You seem a little saddened, Lotd Hasheth. I do hope you aren't developing any emotional attachments.'

'They are my boys and girls,' said Hasheth, a smile cracking his face and revealing painted teeth, the centre ones sharpened to points. 'Every general cares for his charges.'

'Thank you, Hasheth, I will inspect later. Dismissed.'

Hasheth bowed once more and marched away through the Tsardon ranks. Kessian watched him go and saw how every soldier stepped aside even if they weren't looking in his direction. He was desperate to ask about Hasheth but the king was waiting and everyone knew you didn't keep kings waiting.

'And despite all that you consider this a success, do you?' Khuran's face was stone.

'You did not lose a single man to the enemy, my King,' said Gorian. 'None has so much as a scratch.'

'And the dead did not land a single blow,' said Khuran. 'No new dead, no dead army, wouldn't you say?'

Gorian looked confused for a moment. 'One can always create dead. The battlefield is the most convenient place but it is by no means the only resource available to us.'

Khuran's eyes narrowed and his face flushed. 'You know what we agreed, Gorian. You know the weaknesses in your "other resources". You know why we must have fresh fighting dead, not fat town garrison soldiers.'

Gorian glanced quickly at Kessian who had felt a chill across his body that wasn't due to the weather. He wasn't sure why but what Khuran said left him deeply uneasy all over again.

'My King. We are all of us new to this warfare. We will perfect our tactics.'

'I do not have the weight of arms to win the fight we have started,' said Khuran sharply. 'The mathematics are very simple indeed. If you do not deliver, or if I think for one moment you cannot deliver me what I must have, I will withdraw. I will not leave my country open again. Do you understand me?'

'You worry unnecessarily,' said Gorian smoothly. 'We are halfway to Inthen-Gor. When we take what we came for, the entire front north to south is at our mercy. We cannot lose this, Khuran. Trust me.'

Khuran let his gaze linger on Gorian before he turned to Kessian. Kessian gulped, feeling as if the weight of those powerful, confident eyes would be enough to drive him to his knees.

'Your Majesty,' said Kessian.

'And you are?'

'I am Kessian,' he replied, bowing his head. 'Your Majesty.' 'Oh dear,' said Khuran.

Kessian felt as if he had been slapped. Next to him, Gorian tensed. 'This is my son,' he said. Kessian raised his head and knew that he felt pride. With it, came guilt.

'I am well aware who he is,' said Khuran. 'As I am well aware of the enemy we face. How old are you, boy?' 'Ten, your Majesty.'

'Ten.' Khuran rolled the word round his tongue. 'Ten. And coddled on the Hill of the Advocate all your life.' 'My King—'

'I am talking.' Khuran rounded on Gorian. 'And I will not be interrupted.'

Kessian found his heart beating fast. This wasn't like when the Advocate got angry. He could see the king's energy map and it was pulsing a dangerous deep red. Gorian's too, but his was spitting because he was trying to control himself and only just doing it. The king had no such doubt.

'When you left Khuran City, you told me you were going to find help. Foolishly, I assumed that help would be in the form of your Ascendant brothers. But you have brought me a ten-year-old child who shrieks and pukes at the sight of blood. How will this help me win the war and take the Conquord? I have put faith in you, Gorian Westfallen. I am not seeing enough to justify it. Speak.'

'You judge too quickly. Age is no barrier to ability and my son has more potential ability than all the other Ascendants put together. He is the only one who can deliver what I have promised. I am the expert in this, not you.'

'And I am King of the Tsardon and you do
my
bidding.'

'Your success lies in my hands.'

'You think I do not know that?' snapped Khuran. 'Lord of stone, I am warning you, Westfallen. I have mobilised what little remains of my regular army because of my belief in what you can achieve. If you embarrass me, or let me down in even the smallest way, you and your precious little brat will be staked out for the cannibals of the Toursan Lakelands; and not your dead, nor your magic will be able to save you.'

Khuran bent to Kessian and grabbed his face in one hand. Kessian felt terror rise within him and he clamped hard on his bladder and his gut, tensing every muscle inside.

'I do not make idle threats. Fail me and you will be eaten alive.'

'Leave him,' said Gorian.

Khuran let Kessian go. He straightened up. 'Introduce him to your friends. See he understands what is expected. See he understands what he must do if you and he are to live. Go.'

Gorian put an arm on Kessian's shoulder and turned him away towards the dead. When they had walked beyond earshot, he spoke.

'I am proud of you, Kessian. You were very brave. Don't let him scare you.'

'I don't want to be eaten alive.' Kessian's skin was crawling.

'No stake can hold me. No army can beat me. Stay by me and you will be safe always. Khuran is a good king but he is an arrogant one. He has reigned for too long and he is complacent. We will do as he says and bow to him for now but remember, all useful things eventually wear out. Come on. The Dead Lords are anxious to make your acquaintance.'

Chapter Fourteen

859th cycle of God, 24th day of
Genasrise

Jhered didn't need to be an Ascendant to feel the mood in Yllin-Qvist. Years before and on the run with all four young Ascendants, he had witnessed simple joy, ancient knowledge and innocent curiosity. Now, blank suspicion and a cold depression swamped the beautiful mountain-valley village the moment he and his people emerged from the tunnels. They made their way down to the river-run grass and farmlands studded with smooth stone houses.

Many of the young faces had no idea what they witnessed but those of more certain memory knew what they represented; the confirmation of the deepest fears harboured by the Karku over countless generations. There had been no question that all Jhered's two hundred would be taken through the tunnels in contradiction of their cautious ways. Another fact not lost on the Exchequer.

He told his people to wait in the cold sunshine near the tunnel mouth while he, Harkov and Mirron walked into the centre of the village past the gaze of every man, woman and child.

Harban had been alerted to their arrival. They were led to the meeting hall through the depressing spectacle of farmers, herders and miners sharpening inadequate weapons. The hall was almost as Jhered remembered it; flanked by hot spring temples and with smoke billowing from its central chimney. Closer to, though, he saw that the bright murals of mountain, snow and sun had been painted out. Images of darkness, rockfall and the destruction of Kark replaced them, dominated by one depicting a mountain with its peak lying shattered at its feet. He felt Mirron shiver as they walked into the heat of the hall.

'They're resigned to it,' she said. 'They expect it and so it happens. What can you do with belief like that?'

'We are resigned to nothing,' said Harban from beyond the fire and the circles of empty benches. 'But portents are always frozen in image on our walls, good or bad. Come near.'

The three of them walked in. Jhered was glad to be out of the harsh, cold gaze of the villagers. Harban was alone in the hall and he paced slowly from behind the roaring pit as he spoke.

'A strange fate is it not, Exchequer Jhered? That you who would once have been assumed an invasion force and dealt with as such are today guided to our hearts as our only hope of survival.'

It was unlike the Karku to dispense with their ritualistic welcome but Jhered didn't feel any surprise.

'How bad is it?' he asked.

'They are unopposed,' said Harban. 'We are not capable of turning such an enemy. No one will stand before them. They will be at Inthen-Gor in two more days.'

'Two days?' Harkov couldn't help himself. 'It has to be two hundred miles from the Hidrosh Valley, assuming that's where they came in. We have had tunnels to bring us this close. They have had just cliff and ice. How can they move so fast? It's impossible.'

Harban regarded him a moment, taking in the armour and gladius, the pristine red-plumed helmet of the Ascendancy guard tucked under one arm.

'You are a soldier and you understand battle. And if you are with Paul Jhered, you understand it well, I have no doubt. But you do not understand our foe. The Tsardon we can defeat. Not the dead.'

Harkov bristled. 'It is a simple case of mathematics.'

'No, it is not,' snapped Harban. 'Not those you are familiar with. This army does not rest. It does not eat and it does not sleep. It does only its master's bidding and He knows where they must march and what they must take. Your name? I do not know you.'

'Harkov. General of the Ascendancy Guard.'

'And I am Harban-Qvist. You are a friend to Ascendant and Jhered and you have my respect. But you cannot judge this enemy by anything you know. You must see them to understand.'

'So let's do that. Show them to me.'

'Bravery is easy when your enemy is but words and formless fears.' Jhered put up a hand to stall Harkov's retort.