A Shout for the Dead (45 page)

‘I
t's Gorian,' said Roberto, it has to be.'

Chaos descended. Tsar
don were running headlong up towards the crag. Not a one of them had a weapon drawn nor cared who was in front of them. Individual Bear Claw legionaries remembered years of training and began to form up where they could find comrades. People were shouting. Kell added her voice but the loudest was Roberto's. For a moment, he was the great general once more.

'Claws. Break. Double to the muster point. Break out, break out. Move!'

His words rolled over them and they reacted. The final few and Kell ran with them. She couldn't afford a glance behind to see what became of her husband and the Advocate's heir. The crag was on her left, just a few paces away, and to her right something was tearing across the ground and it lent speed to her legs. Ahead of it, Tsardon warriors ran for their lives right into the teeth of what should have been a Bear Claw fence of steel. But the Claws were running too, the cavalry ahead of them already charging. Down the slope along the side of the crag to turn left along the road and away.

Churning blackness flooded across the wooded slope faster than a man could easily run. A mist of spores or dust travelled at its crest like spray on a wave. Kell stumbled in her run but could not drag her eyes away to look where she was going. She was in the midst of a knot of legionaries, and ahead of a stream of blacksmiths, Order ministers, medics and other non-combatants responding to the order to run.

There was no discipline in it. As the black wave rolled up the hillside it became a stampede. Ahead of Kell, she could see the dust of the cavalry and hear their shouts. And she could see Tsardon too, abandoning their positions and joining the rush.

In the air back down the slope to Kell's right, a cloud of brown and black was thickening. Every few moments, more of the dull detonations could be heard, more debris thrown up into the sky. She ran harder. Screams reached her ears. Horrible sounds of terror, cut off abruptly. Panic was spreading across the whole hillside. Conquord and Tsardon ran together, allies in fear.

The blackness was gathering pace. Kell could see it clearly now. It ate up the ground and crawled up trees. Trunks rippled, branches vibrated, wood split, hurling sap, bark and leaf high into the sky and setting a rotten stink on the breeze. On the ground, Tsardon warriors were sprinting hard, desperately trying to outrun the wave. She watched it gather in a line of men, swarming up their bodies like tentacles, grabbing them and bearing them down beneath it, shrieks turning to silence. There was a rumble through the earth. Kell could feel the vibrations in her legs.

She was breathing hard. No time to urge others; this charge needed no further impetus. The wave was rushing faster and faster. She streaked along in front of the crag, seeing the darkness racing to cut her off before she reached the road which remained untouched, a haven for them all. Whatever Gorian had done, it only affected living things.

Bear Claws and Tsardon alike were turning left and disappearing from view. With every one that made it, she felt a tiny sense of satisfaction. But she could hear the popping of grass and flowers, and the thuds of splitting trees so close now. And the begging of men reduced to corpses in moments as the hideous diseased rotting cloud engulfed them.

One more glance behind her before the down slope stole her view; She wished she hadn't. Men and women fighting each other to get on to the crag path. A crowd of people reduced to animals, scratching, pulling and biting to survive instead of those who had been friends as dawn broke. The wave and spore-ridden cloud washed against the crag. So many dead in an instant.

Kell dragged in a breath and focused forwards, desperate not to trip and so to die. The wave roared in her ears and hissed in her skull. Closing, closing. She forced more pace into aching legs. Screamed. Twenty yards to go. The black, roiling filth grabbed more victims, destroyed the hillside, ate everything in its path.

Ten yards. The wave cruised along the verge at the roadside. She could smell the foul stench. It stung her eyes and burned in her throat but she would not stop. Five yards. It was going to beat her to the crag base. She took another two paces and jumped, diving forwards. Beneath her, the wave splashed against the bare rock and fell back. Spores and dust kicked into the air. She held her breath. Down she came. Her hands struck gravel. She turned a forward roll acros
s the road and slithered further
, hearing her cloak rip and her armour shriek against the hard surface.

The moment she stopped moving she leapt to her feet and turned. The wave was fading. The smell was of rot, disease and death. Stagnant and fetid. She turned her head and vomited onto the road. Her heart was thrashing so hard she thought it would explode up her throat. Her body was shaking with exertion and fear. Her eyes were running with tears, trying to wash away the itching that spread across her whole face. She coughed and spat. Looked round again.

The whole hillside was gone. Dead half-trunks still stood, split open and oozing pulp. The grass was a memory. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. But it wouldn't be that way for long. She backed away. There were others on the road with her, standing and staring. Bear Claws and Tsardon alike, all thoughts of friend and foe forgotten.

Down at her feet, a Tsardon warrior was sitting nursing a gash in his left leg. His shoulders were wobbling and he looked up the slope, his mouth open, unable to believe. He turned, sensing Kell's eyes on him. There was fear in him at the sight of her but she just shook her head.

And held out her hand.

The Tsardon took it and hauled himself to his feet.

'Come on,' she said. 'We might fight later but no one deserves to die like this. Let's get you out of here.'

He slung an arm around her shoulder, she one round his waist and the pair of them walked slowly away along the road, neither knowing what might be around the next corner.

Chapter Thirty-One

859th cycle of God, 36th day of
Genasrise

Ossacer could find no answers on the Hill. Only the disciples of the Ascendancy strand of the Order could discuss scripture with him, and their allegiance was to the Advocate alone. He didn't need sycophantic interpretation. What he needed was genuine understanding.

For days, he had wrestled with his conscience, feigning illness very effectively, for the most part to keep away from Arducius and the new emerged Ascendants. Every moment he was away from them he wanted to run in and shout for them to stop their folly, to see what was right in front of their faces and refuse to bow and scrape without thought.

But it had become very clear to him in the brief time he had chosen to spend with Arducius that only he, Ossacer, had any sense left in him. The war machine was rolling. And not just in the Ascendancy. He'd been called to examine the elements that made up some explosive powder the Sirraneans had given Marcus Gesteris. Foolishly, he'd taken along Cygalius and the young lad had identified the ingredients in moments. The Advocate's scientists were sourcing and manufacturing even now, while in the classrooms, Arducius and Hesther taught fire and ice.

There was no one here to preach reflection. Mirron was who-knew-where at the moment. Jhered with her. And Vasselis, who might have had a thing or two to say about engaging in another damaging conflict without proper diplomacy, was away with the Advocate.

All for rumour too. Rumour that the Tsardon were approaching Gosland and Atreska and rumour that Gorian was doing something unspeakable. Actually, Ossacer believed the latter part but it was separate to a war in which the Ascendants were to be merely weapons. An arm of the military. Wrong. So very, very wrong. Only killing Gorian mattered.

Ossacer really felt he had no choice, and his heart was not even heavy when he walked out of the Victory Gates and headed for the only place he knew he would get a proper hearing and an alternative perspective. He understood it was risky. Foolhardy, even. But there were times when the service of the Omniscient transcended personal risk.

He felt like a recalcitrant child with his cloak hood pulled well over his face as he walked the warm streets of Estorr on a breezy but sunny morning. Sneaking by people who had no idea who he was on an errand that all those he called friends would try to stop. Genasrise smelled beautiful. The first flowers were in bloom and the mood was light. Even the scents from the sea were fresh. He expected every rooftop and whitewashed wall would be sparkling in the sun but that was a sight denied him.

Ossacer navigated by the currents of energy in the air and through the cobbled streets. He walked by people if they crowded the way, letting their life maps draw him a picture of what lay before him. No one would have guessed he was blind, nor that he was an Ascendant. One of the more famous people in the Conquord and yet none of them knew he passed. There was some satisfaction in that. And some relief.

The atmosphere in the city was troubled. Demonstrations had come as far as the gates of the Hill on three occasions. The Chancellor had maintained her demands that the Ascendants and their allies be locked away. Graffiti had been daubed on walls across Estorr. Offensive, frightening and unsettling.

His destination villa was enormous. Not just of a scale within a set of similar villas, but massive. Before approaching, Ossacer gauged the mood of the square in which he found himself, walking slowly around, apparently admiring the fountain at its heart. From his reading, he knew what the fountain represented. A tree in full spread, providing nourishment, security and comfort. It looked a bit of a mess to him. The water running through the marble upset the natural harmonies of the sculpture and made the map a chaotic mix of colours. He had been assured it was beautiful though.

Ossacer sniffed. Visual beauty. Another concept consigned to memory. It still left a bitter taste in the mouth. He moved on. The square was busy. It was set in the heart of a luxurious district of Estorr, high up above the harbour and commanding magnificent views it was said. Every villa had extensive buildings and gardens. All had private fountains piping water directly inside and giving their owners even more reason not to mix with the masses.

He could hear building work going on but couldn't quite place it. Roads led from the square in four directions. Down towards the harbour, left and right towards the arena and the Hill respectively and up to where the principal House of Masks dominated the skyline. Not a place for beggars, though of course they had more reason than most to look for succour here.

For a moment, Ossacer questioned his decision. There was no going back once he passed the guards and announced himself at the gate. But he could see no other way. Not if the Ascendancy was to be accepted and not if the Academy was to develop free of its tag as a military training camp.

Ossacer took a deep breath and strode up to the gates, closed against the public. Guards moved to block his path.

'I am sorry but the Chancellor is not able to entertain visitors,' said one in a gentle, almost apologetic voice that took Ossacer by surprise.

'I am sure she will want to speak to me.'

'A lot of people say that,' said the other, humour in his tone. 'And if we believed them all, the Chancellor would never be able to carry out her duties. You can write for an appointment and may be seen in the House of Masks but I have to advise you that the Chancellor's diary is brimming, what with the ongoing Ascendant trouble. I'm sure you understand. Please move on.'

Ossacer couldn't resist the dramatic.

'As I say,' he said, sweeping off his hood and looking up at the guards. 'I am sure she will want to speak to me.'

Both guards stepped back, staring at his eyes. Ossacer was drawing on the energy of trees in the garden and knew that browns and greens would be chasing across them.

'There is no need to be afraid. I am Ossacer Westfallen and I am here to offer help, information and advice in a difficult time for us all.'

He couldn't read their expressions but knew that they were looking at each other.

'Stay,' said one. 'Stand there, don't move.' 'I have no intention of doing otherwise.'

A bell was rung. Presumably it was set into the wall. It was an insistent ring and didn't stop until he heard running feet. The lefthand gate was opened and Ossacer counted four more soldiers approaching. He kept his expression warm though inside his heart had begun to thrash in his chest. No turning back now.

One guard watched him while the others gathered in a whispering huddle. Every energy map was shot through with nerves. Lifelines shimmered. Nearby, plants sampled the change in the atmosphere. If only they knew just how close they really were to nature. Shortly, three men marched towards him. One reached out as if to grab him but pulled back, not wishing to touch him.

'You will come with us.'

it is all I have been asking for,' said Ossacer. 'Please, you don't need to worry. I am here to make good, not cause trouble.' 'That will be for the Chancellor to decide.' 'Clearly.'

The guards surrounded him but kept at arm's length, walking him quickly between vibrant, pulsing beds of plants and flowers. Ossacer drank in their purity, using it to energise and calm himself. He ran through in his mind the content he wanted to impart. The only unknown was Felice Koroyan herself and whether she would give him the opportunity.