A Shout for the Dead (67 page)

'We'll save him, Mirron, I promise,' said Jhered.

Mirron smiled,
‘I
know we will. But every day without him feels more like I've lost him forever.'

'Mislaid, dear Mirron. Not lost. And we always find the things we mislay.'

Mirron punched Ossacer's arm. 'Thanks, Ossie.'

'Will they be able to do it, do you think? The tenth strand?' Gesteris was scratching at the wound beneath his eye patch. 'They are untried, are they not? All of us, with your gracious exception Mother Naravny, have experienced the terror of battle and know how hard it is not to turn and run. If the dead are marching on the gates and our citizens are begging for help, will they be able to stand up?'

'We've taught them all we can,' said Arducius. 'We've given them pressure situations in which to work and they've performed well. And now they have something to hang onto. They are angry as well as scared by what happened in the Academy. And they are determined not to let anyone threaten them again. Will that translate to the ability to stop the dead at the gates? I don't know. All I do know is that we performed when we had to, and I believe they will too.'

'Well said, Arducius,' said Ossacer. 'Fantastic that we have trained our new Ascendants to understand how to take life.'

Jhered put his head in his hands. His sigh was long and loud and it was enough to still any thoughts of further comment.

'And perhaps we should all remain quiet until the Advocate arrives. Give ourselves time to consider what we will say and how we will behave.'

'Stop treating me like a child, Paul,' said Ossacer.

'You know the common response to that, don't you, Ossie?'

There was little more conversation until the Advocate arrived. Herine being ushered into the Chancellery was something of a relief but the expression on her face was a bleak reminder of what had happened in the palace just a couple of hours earlier. She was still largely blank, the shock had settled hard on her, but her eyes were bright. It was a slightly calmer version of poor Harkov who was with the doctors now and being tended by his wife.

Jhered realised they were all staring at her. It was very difficult not to. Herine was readying to speak, aware no one else was going to break the deadlock.

'Are none of you going to welcome your new murderer?' she said.

'Come on, Herine, sit down,' said Hesther. 'No one is thinking that.'

'Really?'

'Really,' said Mirron.

'I have no problem with what happened,' said Ossacer.

Jhered drew sharp breath but Herine chose to smile and take a seat.

'It has not been a good night. Support is thin on the ground, so thank you, Ossacer. I will never really understand you but I know what you're trying to say.'

Vasselis moved to sit beside her.

'How did it go?' Jhered asked of him.

'As well as it could. The body is with the surgeons and will be released to the Order shortly. We are going to collect the Speakers of Earth, Oceans and Winds and will bring them here to explain the situation.'

'And the Armour of God?'

Vasselis nodded. 'Prime Sword Vennegoor may accompany them.'

'He doesn't need an explanation, he needs a warning,' said Elise. 'The Armour of God needs to be elsewhere, defending its citizens.'

'Dream away, Elise. Trying and burning Felice would have caused enough trouble. There is little doubt that her being killed while under arrest is going to cause considerably more.' Herine looked over at Jhered and inclined her head. 'Thank you for indulging me earlier. I think I can handle the reality now.'

'And the reality is it was an accident but one which will have dire consequences,' said Jhered. 'But we have a plan. I urge you not to release the body until we have our defences in place and the Ascendants away from here.'

'What are you going to say, Herine?' asked Hesther.

'The truth,' she replied.

'I'm not sure that's entirely wise,' said Jhered. 'Your direct involvement—'

'Will get out whether we like it or not. Let's meet this thing head on.'

Jhered shook his head. 'Perhaps you can't handle the reality. Herine, think. What happens if the Order and the citizenry know you brought about her death? Arvan, you don't agree with this plan, do you?'

'I am but a Marshal Defender who makes his points and ultimately follows orders.'

'And your point was
...'

'That this would be a disastrous course of action.'

Jhered turned back to the Advocate. 'Herine, please? This is most unwise. I agree it'll come out but we need to manage when as best we can. I presume you've used the guards outside your door to move the body?'

Vasselis nodded. 'The fewer who see the better. We took her straight to the surgeons. She's blanked off. We weren't seen on the way down so only we few, plus two guards and one surgeon, know anything has happened.'

'I know what you're going to say, Paul,' said Herine.

'And it makes perfect sense. Keep the lid on it. We have it under control. Why should anyone know the truth of where and how she died? There isn't a mark on her. The slap mark will have faded. She could have had the same accident in her cell.'

'I can't live with this lie,' said Herine. 'I won't. If I am to face my people over this, then it must be with no more guilt than I must already carry for what I have done.'

'You did nothing,' said Jhered, voice little more than a hiss. 'You slapped her across the face and as you can imagine, there are many of us who would have loved to stand in the queue to do the same. She slipped, she fell badly and she was killed. You did not kill her.'

'I set her death in motion.'

'No,' said Ossacer. 'She did that herself.'

'And this is the rule of universal balance, is it, Ossacer?' said Herine.

'If you place yourself in danger through your own actions, you have to accept the consequences,' said Ossacer. 'I learned to live with what I did.'

'Quite, but the Chancellor does not have that luxury, does she?' said Herine. 'It is me who has to learn to live with what I have done.'

'Yes.' Ossacer continued. Jhered had the hunch to let him. 'Yes, you do, and you will, my Advocate. But announcing what people will see as your guilt from the throne of the basilica will not help that. It won't help any of us and it won't help the Conquord.'

Ossacer paused and a smile crossed his lips.

'Something funny?' Herine did not twitch a muscle.

'No, my Advocate. But a thought struck me. I'll make you a deal. If you promise not to speak the whole truth just yet, I promise not to complain ever again about being sent to the battlefield.'

All eyes fell on Herine again. Jhered couldn't penetrate her expression. She was eyeing Ossacer closely.

'You are a cheeky bastard, Ossacer Westfallen,' she said.

'The blind must develop other talents.'

'Cheeky bastard,' she repeated. 'But sometimes your twittering produces moments of clarity and sense. You have a deal.'

Jhered caught Ossacer's eye and his face cracked into a grin. 'And now, may we get to the job in hand and start saving our Conquord?'

'I think so.' Herine stood. 'You have my permission to do what must be done both here and wherever you choose to make your stand. I'm tired. I need to lie down and endure my nightmares. Just one thing, though, Paul and all of you. I have two sons out there facing the dead and whatever else Gorian throws at them. I want them both back here safe. Do I make myself clear?'

Jhered nodded. 'We'll bring them home for you, my Advocate. That I promise.'

The middle of another long day. The furnaces burned day and night. The blacksmith's hammer accompanied him to sleep and brought him to wakefulness. Carts of best Tundarran and Sirranean wood trundled in at all hours from the north-east and north-west. They were even hacking into the local stocks, unseasoned or not, just to the northwest and also in the Calern and Porbanii forests a little further afield. The Lothiun mountains that stretched away a few hundred miles north provided good quality minerals and metal ores when Kark and Gestern deliveries were poor like they were now.

Sometimes, Lucius Moralius, Hasfort's Master Engineer, hated the fact that he had been born and bred in Hasfort. Even more so that he'd followed his father into the service of the Conquord. And yet more so that he'd shown an aptitude for the science of artillery and the organisation of men.

And he knew for certain that most of the citizens of this once beautiful riverside town hated the fact that over the past forty years, it had become little more than a production line for Conquord war machinery. In his lifetime of forty-five years, he'd seen the fishing and craft industries submerged beneath a tide of industry. The watermills and forges had grown by a factor of ten and not one of them turned out anything much, barring weaponry, armour and artillery. And besides the farmers who fed the populace and the administrators who kept the books balanced for Paul Jhered, there was precious little other employment.

It had made Hasfort ugly. The open fields were lost behind the walls that protected the town from invaders, should that remote possibility ever become a reality. The sky was smudged with smoke and the air tasted of peat and ash.

Lucius strapped his leather apron on over his lightweight woollen toga, waved his family goodbye and walked the short distance from his small house to the east side of the town where most of the industry was located. Saws agitated his already brittle mood, the ringing of hammer on metal went straight though his head this afternoon and the shouting of men spawned a pain behind his eyes.

'Bastard Tsardon,' he muttered. 'Bastard mobilisation.'

It wouldn't have been so bad but for the fact that they had been in the middle of a massive refit of the artillery for five legions. Ballistae, scorpions and the new sled-mounted field onagers had crammed the yards. When the orders had come through and the flags flown from the messenger towers, the already exhausting timetable had been thrown into confusion. The assumed attrition rate of artillery in an open conflict had to be factored in and dozens of new pieces had to be planned, materials sourced, and then built. All in fifty days.

Moralius shook his head. They would do it because he had never failed to deliver and that was a proud record. But the complaints of the ordinary citizen deprived of sleep and forced to work double shifts were getting as loud as the hammers. As if he wasn't doing it himself too. God-embrace-him but he was doing more than any of them. They could all sleep or bathe whenever they were off-duty. Moralius had to plan further. He had to tick boxes, organise rotas, sign supply contracts. A million little jobs.

He realised he was stamping his feet on the walk and he consciously lightened his step and took the glower off his face. That would never do. He paused as if to refasten the straps on his forge boots and let the warm breeze play over his face. He was standing on the approach to the forges and yards, not three hundred yards from the eastern gate and walls.

The tenements and houses he was passing were mired in grime and needed a wash and a lick of paint. When the fifty days were up, he'd make sure that happened. Recompense needed to be swift and appreciable in Hasfort. He couldn't afford dissension.

Moralius nodded at a group of men walking by on the way home from their shifts or more likely straight for a goblet of ale or wine. It made him thirsty just thinking about it. They were covered in soot and sweat and their shambling frames spoke of the tiredness he felt in himself.

'Good day?' he asked.

'Same as every other day,' said one. The group slowed but didn't stop. 'Except it looks like you'll need to crack the whip a bit harder, sir.'

Moralius frowned. 'Oh? Why?'

'Dust cloud to the north-east. Reckon your Gosland orders might need fulfilling a few days early.'

'That can't be.' Moralius scowled, trying to remember the timetable. It wasn't hard. It was practically imprinted on his brain. 'The Bear Claws refits aren't ready for another six days. And the new ballistae not for another ten. That was the agreement.'

The man shrugged,
‘I
'm sure, sir. But there's a dust cloud just the same. Could be a trader trail but more likely it's the wagons and cavalry of the second legion we reckon, come to get their gear.'

'Fine.' Moralius sighed. 'I'll see what I can do, I suppose. Thanks for the news.'

'We'll be back if you need us, sir,' said the man, a blacksmith by the look of him. Young man. New on the job.

Moralius chuckled despite his mood,
‘I
'm sure that won't be necessary but I appreciate your offer. What's your name?'