A Shout for the Dead (33 page)

Soldiers were looking at the captain and back to him.

'Those are our people.' There was pleading in the captain's voice.

Roberto took another look. Throats were pierced, armour damaged. One had lost a hand, another had a tear across his chest through which his ribs were clearly visible.

'Trust me,' he said quietly. 'And don't make me pull rank. Those are not our people. Not any more. Close the gate.'

The captain looked to her soldiers and nodded. 'Do it,' she said, turning back to Roberto immediately. 'What now, General? We've closed the gates on people we could have saved. You know something. We need to know it too, sir.'

There were better than fifty people around the gates as they clanged shut and bolts were thrown. Every one of them looked at Roberto, anger in their faces. The gates were in the centre of a broad wall and faced into a staging area big enough to hold two thousand legionaries or five hundred cavalry. It was filling up quickly. Stairs led off left up to the gatehouse balcony and right to the artillery platforms. Other doors and stairways studded the walls all the way around, giving access to the rest of the castle.

'Let's form our defence here first,' said Roberto. 'Sarissas and archers in ranks facing the door. Swords to the flanks, ready to use as shock force.'

The captain didn't move for a moment.

'Captain, the Tsardon are coming. We have to hold here until the legion arrives. The stones will soon be hitting those gates and they will not hold forever whatever the strength of the walls. And I fear the Tsardon have more than just artillery backing their assault. Form up and I will speak to you all.'

The captain nodded and began to issue orders. She knew him. They all did. The Conquord's most successful living general. He was relying on that reputation now, more than he ever had. He knew what they were thinking. That he'd left good citizens outside to die. How could he tell them something he dare not believe himself? He needed evidence, testimony. Something to back up the foggy memory of a conversation he'd had with Paul Jhered years ago. The mess hall had plenty of that.

'Thank you, Captain,' he said. 'Your trust will not be wasted. I am sorry to say I can promise you that.'

Roberto took her salute and made for the mess hall. Halfway across the staging area, he saw Adranis emerge from their room, resplendent in his cavalry armour, cloak and helmet.

'Over here,' he said. 'Come and help me talk to the runners you saw. We need quick information.'

‘I
should get back to the Claws,' said Adranis.

'They'll need to hear it too. Best it comes from one of their own.'

'Hear what?'

'Just bear with me,' said Roberto.

Adranis looked beyond Roberto and straightened in complete surprise. His mouth opened slightly. Simultaneously, silence fell across the yard. Roberto spun on his heel. Walking down both sets of stairs, from the balcony, gate ramparts and artillery platform, were men and women bearing gladiuses and knives. It was a determined walk.

On the ground, people backed away. He heard blades drawn and the whisper of voices.

'That man was dead,' said Adranis.
‘I
saw him myself. Roberto,
look
at him.'

Roberto looked. Skull bone showed through his torn flesh and blood had dribbled from his eyes to draw lines down his cheeks. Walking beside him, another man, his breastplate drenched in blood and across his throat, a jagged tear. A third came behind them, one hand clamped to his gut. Even as they watched, the entrails slipped from between his fingers and spilled on to the ground, hanging and steaming in the cold air. The man simply removed his hand and carried on walking. But he tripped on his own innards and tumbled sideways.

From the platform and towers, came ten more and shadows above told of others. Roberto could all but taste the fear that swept across the living as they beheld their first, disbelieving sight of the dead. They held ranks but only just, backing away further, leaving an open space at the base of each stairway.

The captain held out her hands for calm. She was standing ahead of her soldiers and in front of the gates. She looked left and right, watching the dead advance. She gasped and moved towards the left-hand stair. The murmuring of the living became louder. Someone urged her to get back. Others were pointing, calling out names. Roberto put out a hand to stop Adranis coming past him.

'Captain,' he said, voice bouncing from the vaulted roof. 'Keep your distance.'

'It's Veralius,' she said, pointing to one of the torn, scarred men moving towards her. 'We have to help them. Look at them.'

'It was Veralius,' said Roberto. 'It isn't now. Just a shell. He should be with Gpd and he is not.'

The dead were on the lower steps. The mass of the defenders were still backing off, leaving open ground of a good ten yards. Adranis and Roberto walked around the side, giving them a view across the space. The captain stood her ground. Roberto could see the fear in her eyes. Her sword was drawn and she continually retightened her grip. She was alone and the dead were moving towards her.

'Veralius,' she said. 'It's me, Jorgia.'

There was no flicker of recognition.

'Back off, Captain,' said Roberto. 'This won't work.'

'Alive or dead, it's still him,' said the captain. 'Veralius, come on. Say something.'

Veralius had a long, savage cut down the left hand side of his head. It had been a killing blow, no question. It had smashed his jaw across his face and his neck was twisted to the side. It should be pumping blood but only the tiniest dribble could be seen. He was slightly ahead of the others but all of them, from both sets of steps, were moving towards the captain. Behind her, her soldiers were urging her to drop back. .

'Something wrong with him, Captain. Stand with us.'

'We can take them if we have to.'

'Veralius,' she said again. 'Please. Remember me.'

'He can't,' said Roberto. 'He's dead. Drop back.'

'And do what?' she snapped. 'He's dead already? How do we kill him again? I don't even know what I'm trying to say. How can he be dead?' The last a hoarse whisper.

'Taking their legs off will stop them advancing. And taking their hands off will stop them attacking,' said Adranis. 'They'll never get past a line of sarissas, Captain. Do what the general says.'

'And that's an order,' said Roberto.

The captain looked at them briefly and then back at Vetalius. He was only four paces from her, the others right behind him. Blades were raised.

'Captain!' shouted Roberto. 'Back off now.'

'Veralius,' bawled the captain into the face of the dead man. 'Veralius.'

There it was. A pause in his relentless advance. A twitch in the sword arm. His expression didn't change but he didn't strike. He rocked slightly in his stance. The captain smiled.

'Veralius,' she said. 'It's all right.'

Four blades crashed into her unprotected sides, carving deep into her back, neck and arms. She went down in a fountain of blood. Her soldiers roared fury.

'Sarissas!' shouted someone. 'Two to a blade.'

The long weapons were levelled, three ranks deep.

'Archers, fire at will.'

Arrows spat across the short space from those who could get a shot. Forty or fifty striking at the dead who were already on the move. There were only twenty of them but they moved with no fear, just hideous purpose. There was no doubt what they would do when they reached the defensive lines. But they weren't going to get that far.

Shafts thudded home. The dead were pitched from their feet, driven backwards or down to t
heir knees. In moments, they wer
e all preparing to move forward again, spreading more anxiety, more fear.

'Sarissas. Let's pin these bastards to the gates.'

The sarissa men surged forwards, battle cries ripping from their lips. The dead raised no defence. The long, counter-balanced blades found their targets. The team pairs pushed on, angling the blades up, lifting dead from the ground and rushing the yardage to the gates where they pinioned them to the timbers. The cheers were muted. Some had been carried up but dropped. Still they moved. Goslander militia fell on them, hacking and slashing.

Roberto rubbed his gloved hands over his face. More dead were appearing on the stairs. Those impaled on blades still moved, still betrayed no emotion, pain or fear.

‘I
want this castle swept for them,' ordered Roberto. 'Dismember, decapitate. Stop them anyway you can. We will send them back to the embrace of God.'

While centurions sent teams up the stairways, Roberto turned to Adranis. His brother wore his shock in the brightness of his eyes.

'Get back to the legion. Tell Kell and Nunan what we're up against. There has to be no confusion, no mercy. These citizens are dead and we must not think of them as the people we once knew.'

'Easy to say,' said Adranis.

'We have to stop them and we have to do it now. Here.' 'Who's doing this?'

Roberto spat on the ground. Around them, violence flared. The dead were being sent back to God. It was not pretty and Roberto was aware it was driven by anger at their captain's murder. When the fury subsided, the fear would return.

'Gorian.'

Adranis's frown deepened. 'The Ascendant? Dead, surely.' 'The Sirraneans warned me he was still alive and in Tsard. The evidence suggests they were right. I should never have let him live.' 'Can you be sure it's him?'

'Who else? Jhered once told me Gorian thought the dead had an energy of their own and it seems he was right.' Roberto shook his head. 'Walking dead, foul-smelling storms carrying dust and death. There's no doubt. Just as there is no doubt that the Tsardon are with him and the Conquord is not ready for another invasion. If we don't hold them here, we have little else to offer.'

'The Claws won't fail.'

'I'm counting on that. Go. If we can stop them here, we will. Just be ready unless we can't.' 'Be careful, Roberto.'

Roberto chuckled. 'That's rich, coming from you.'

Onager stones rattled into the gatehouse and the timber of the gates themselves, sending the dead pinned there into a hideous jumping dance, like puppets in a cheap show.

'Let's have them down,' said Roberto. 'Even butchering them is more respectful than this.'

The carving up of the dead had finished and the reanimated corpses lay still once again. Someone had found an Order reader and body parts were being taken away for proper, decent burial. Blood was across the steps and more teams were heading out to the open spaces of the castle to ensure no more of Gorian's bastard creations were lurking, waiting to strike.

Centutions had organised their soldiers quickly and effectively. There was a busy quality to the staging area but Roberto could hear it fading away now the immediate action was done. Shock was settling on the two hundred or so assembled there. Defensive commanders were reorganising the sarissa lines to form up before the doors while the pinned dead were taken down to be dismembered. Roberto found it hard to believe such an order was being followed.

But there were problems of more immediate significance to tackle. He could see in the eyes of every man and woman standing before the now damaged gates that they were wholly unprepared for what might come against them. Tsardon or dead citizens, it hardly mattered. And they had no defence against the pounding of their own artillery. Not one of the pieces ranged across the river was functioning. Roberto knew there would be feverish activity from the engineers but that it would almost certainly prove futile. Gorian's storm had destroyed bindings, cups and ropes.

Roberto walked across the open ground in front of the sarissa line. More stones thudded into the gates. The back of one timber splintered. Iron bindings rattled and nails loosened. One of the centurions came to his shoulder.

'Orders, sir?'

Roberto looked at him. Standing proud but with fear etched into his expression.

'This is senseless,' he said. 'General?'

'We cannot hold them here. When the gates go down, if it is not the dead who kill us, it will be the six thousand Tsardon flooding across the bridge. Don't sacrifice one more life.' Roberto swallowed on a welling desperation. Images flooded his mind and none of them suggested victory. 'The Bear Claws are drawn up behind us. This is their job now. Abandon the castle.'

The centurion stared at him for a moment.

'We can't desert the border,' he said. 'This castle is Gosland. We have a killing ground here, surely. We can pin any number back with arrows and sarissas. The door isn't wide enough for them to gain a bridgehead.'