A Shout for the Dead (40 page)

Authors: James Barclay

Tags: #Fantasy

BOOK: A Shout for the Dead

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Roberto found he couldn't hold back the tears. He gripped Dahnishev's arm. 'I can't let him become one of them. Please, Dahnishev, don't let that happen.'

'With every fibre of my being. Now get out, wipe your eyes and help them. They need you out there.'

'If he dies, I will burn him myself to save him from that bastard out there. Burn him or cut the legs and head from him.' 'I know, Roberto.'

Roberto looked down at Adranis one more time, pushed his fingers along under his eyes and ducked out of the tent. It was quiet but that surely wouldn't last. He thought he understood part of the reason the Tsardon hadn't attacked yet. Not just to rest their men but to let their enemy brood and wonder who would be next dragged from God's embrace to stand again.

Death was no longer the final release.

People saw him emerge into the sunlight. Most turned away. Some stared, not disguising their anger. Others made the Omniscient sign at their chests before moving on. He shook his head and walked left along the crag to the command position, just a sheet of canvas held up on long poles. Nunan and Kell were both standing in the shade looking at maps. Julius Barias was there too. He exchanged a sharp glance with Nunan and said nothing, satisfied for the moment to try to burn holes of guilt in Roberto's forehead.

'That you are able to stand there resplendent in your fury is testament to the wisdom of my actions,' said Roberto. 'Why not go out and tend to the sick. Do your job, like your generals.'

'My job, Ambassador, is to maintain the ethics of my faith and tend to those in strife on the battlefield and away from it. What's yours?'

'To maintain the cohesion of the Conquord at all costs. All costs, Speaker Barias. And ultimately to succeed my mother to the seat of the Advocate. So I might be careful what I said, were I you.'

'A heretic will never ascend the Hill,' said Barias.

'If a blacksmith burns his arm, is he a heretic? If a brazier is spilled and men are injured, is that an act of heresy?'

Barias looked confused. 'Are we debating theology in general or your particular crime?'

'How many of the dead on the battlefield today were reduced to ash and lost to God, Julius?'

Both Kell and Nunan looked up from their maps. Guards on the periphery of the command post turned their heads and adjusted their stances. Barias jutted out his chin.

'Fortune does not make your actions any the less an act against the Omniscient,' he said.

'How many, Speaker Barias? And don't lie to me. I can guess the answer because I saw the entire contact. But humour me and tell me anyway.'

'None,' said Barias evenly.

'None,' repeated Roberto.

'Not this time,' said Barias. 'But what about the time we cannot reach them to put out the flames? Where will your defence be then, eh?'

'Exactly where it is today. That
my
actions saved hundreds of lives that would otherwise have been lost to the Conquord and to you, Speaker Barias. I would do the same again and take the same risk. And I would and will answer any charges you lay.'

‘I
will personally see to it.'

Roberto laughed. 'You should go out and infect others with this amazing confidence in your own survival, rather than your odious religious bile. That really would be useful.'

'I don't—'

'Has our situation completely escaped your attention? We have a legion reduced to
...
Pavel, how many fit bodies?'

'We have a hundred and ninety-seven cavalry riders, and horses for them to ride. The hastatii are almost non-existent. Principes suffered massive damage. Triarii got off only because they were third rank. But even they have been hit hard. Eleven hundred and eighty-three gladius infantry. One hundred and one sarissa bearers and seventy-four skirmishers. Our bow total is four hundred-odd. Every other bow is broken or lost.'

Roberto swung back to Barias and raised his eyebrows. 'You understand what that means? It means that if the Tsardon come at us, they will slaughter us. None of us have any idea why they haven't done so already. They might at any moment. Now we'll get as many as we can up the crag and away but it won't be all of us, now will it? And if I am to stand trial it will be in Estorr. And I'll tell you something else. I will be the happiest man in the Conquord to stand in the dock in the basilica and answer your charges from you personally, Julius. Because that will mean a miracle has occurred.

'So, carry on casting your accusations if you like. I'm going to try and save some lives and work out what Gorian and the Tsardon are planning next.'

'And you are little better, General Nunan,' said Barias. 'Unless you denounce him and admit your complicity.'

Nunan spoke over Roberto's shoulder. 'Go and bandage a wound, will you, Julius? I'm sick of your bile and the sound of your voice. I'm with the ambassador.'

Roberto smiled. 'You know, Speaker Barias, I actually agree with your position. And I will have to live with the consequences of my actions for as long as God grants me breath. But you've swallowed too much of the Chancellor's rhetoric. You have to apply the teachings to the battlefield in a different way.'

'Flame is outlawed. There is no other interpretation.'

Roberto threw up his arms. 'You make my point so flawlessly. You should be buried in your scriptures, examining them for reasons why God would allow the dead to walk. New enemy, new tactics required. Please, Julius, work with us. Every dissenting voice weakens us.'

Barias scoffed. 'You have already broken the spine of this legion, Ambassador.'

'Enough,' said Nunan. 'Guardsman Gerus.'

'Yes, sir?'

The guard turned from his station at the edge of the command post. 'Escort the Speaker back to his scriptures. And see that he does nothing but read them. He is to talk to no one until I say otherwise.' Barias paled.

‘I
warned you, Julius. This is an army and we are facing an enemy far too powerful for us. I cannot have fragmentation. I must have cohesion. Go.'

Roberto watched the Speaker stalk away along the lee of the crag.

'It doesn't get any easier, does it?' said Roberto. 'But thank you for your support. I know it's a difficult call for you.'

'Not difficult at all, Roberto. But here's the rest of it. The Tsardon have not massed yet but enough are on station to keep us penned in here. We have little food other than what strays into the woods, and even less water. The crag path will not be usable until nightfall, at which time I will start sending people up it. At dawn, when the Tsardon see what we are doing, as they undoubtedly will, they will attack and those of us remaining will be killed. We cannot hope to hold out so we will not be trying.'

'How many can we get up between dusk and dawn, assuming we aren't attacked in the meantime?' asked Roberto.

'It's a tough climb, particularly at night and we cannot afford to light the way or they'll know we're escaping them. Even a fit soldier will take at least half an hour to get up there. It's steep and they'll have to carry their kit and more. Two with a stretcher
...?
Anybody's guess.'

'So what does that mean? How many?'

'With no interruption and just sending up the fit ones and with no accidents, we think we can get between six and eight hundred up during the hours of darkness. Then it's as many as can escape before the Tsardon overrun us.'

Roberto frowned. 'No more?'

'Think about it. We can only send up one at a time and even with minimal gap between each one we won't get more away.'

'But that leaves six hundred plus as, what
...
sacrifices, nothing more,' said Roberto.

'And don't forget surgeons, blacksmiths, engineers, orderlies, medics and five hundred and thirty injured or dying,' said Nunan.

'There has to be another way,' said Roberto.

'This is the best we can do,' said Kell. 'The cavalry will stay and punch a hole in the Tsardon line to give a chance of escape around the crag base to the south but whichever way you look at it, we're going to be leaving some of our people behind.'

Roberto scratched at his forehead. 'Can this be right?'

'So, tell us this,' said Kell, voice flat, face pale with exhaustion. 'Who lives and who dies? Do we send the sick up, knowing they might die on the way back to Estorr, or do we leave them here, helpless victims? Do we send up fit men and women because they are of more use to the cause, or do they stay here because they can buy the sick and wounded a little more time? I am not God, I cannot make that sort of decision.'

Roberto sighed. 'It's a shame the enemy doesn't share your humility.'

'And that's something else. How do we leave it such that those left behind are of no use to Gorian?' asked Nunan.

'We should have run while we had the chance,' said Kell.

'There never was a chance,' said Roberto. 'Don't burden yourself with that. We were in no position to defend ourselves on the run and we couldn't just abandon our wounded and non-combatants. The Tsardon were fitter, more numerous and they had the dead. And the dead wouldn't have rested when we had to. We had to face them sometime. At least today we gave them a bloody nose.'

'But it won't save us, not all of us.'

'No it won't.' Roberto began to shake. 'And it's obvious what we must do isn't it?'

Nunan nodded. 'I'm so sorry, Roberto.'

He couldn't meet Nunan's gaze. 'I need some time alone. And some time with my brother.'

'We'll handle everything from here.'

'Not everything,' said Roberto. 'I need to speak to Dahnishev.'

Roberto walked out of the command position and looked down the slope. It was a beautiful valley. Genastro flowers in bloom, trees in new leaf, burgeoning with energy. Birds everywhere. Life surrounded him. He wiped a tear from his eye and walked back to sit with Adranis. Dahnishev did not attempt to stop him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

859th cycle of God, 35th day of
Genasrise

'Name,' said Nunan.

Roberto translated his words. Adranis had not yet regained consciousness. It was likely now that he never would. Roberto had shed his tears on Dahnishev's shoulder and responded to Nunan's request to help him interrogate the Tsardon commander of the dead. He was a most extraordinary-looking man. Hideous. His whole character was repellent and his face and head tattooed to inspire fear. Black, blue and red, the tattoos formed intricate swirling patterns and symbols. Completely impenetrable.

'Garanth,' replied the Tsatdon, showing the filed front teeth that had set Roberto's on edge.

Garanth's hands were bound. He stood before them in the command post, three men around him, hands on gladius hilts but still nervous. He was a huge man, looming almost as high as Paul Jhered. His shoulders were bunched with muscle below his furs and his entire body ran with power. One on one, he would beat any of them easily. Fortunately, he seemed entirely tranquil.

'What are you? A soldier?' asked Nunan.

Garanth chuckled.

'Not a soldier,' he said, his voice a whispered whistle. 'A shepherd. A father.'

Nunan raised his eyebrows. 'You sure about that translation?'

'Absolutely,' said Roberto, though he understood why Nunan had questioned him.

'Not what I was expecting. A shepherd of the dead?'

Garanth inclined his head. 'The path is not always clear. Some have need of light and guidance.'

Nunan massaged his temples with thumb and middle finger. He shook his head.

'But this is a battlefield position?' Another chuckle.

'The Temples of Khuran are my home.'

'You're a priest.'

'If that definition helps you.'